uy 

fflarpuerite  Tludoux 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Class 


MARIE-CLAIRE 


MARGUERITE  AUDOUX 


MARIE-CLAIRE 


BY 

MARGUERITE  AUDOUX 


Translated   by 
JOHN  N.  RAPHAEL 


With  an  Introduction 
By  ARNOLD  BENNETT 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1911, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


INTRODUCTION  TO 

MARIE-CLAIRE 

BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 


220917 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  origins  of  this  extraordinary  book 
are  sufficiently  curious  and  sufficiently 
interesting  to  be  stated  in  detail.  They 
go  back  to  some  ten  years  ago,  when  the 
author,  after  the  rustic  adventures  which  she 
describes  in  the  following  pages,  had  defi- 
nitely settled  in  Paris  as  a  working  sempstress. 
The  existence  of  a  working  sempstress  in 
Paris,  as  elsewhere,  is  very  hard;  it  usually 
means  eleven  hours'  close  application  a  day, 
six  full  days  a  week,  at  half  a  crown  a  day. 
But  already  Marguerite  Audoux's  defective 
eyesight  was  causing  anxiety,  and  upsetting 
the  regularity  of  her  work,  so  that  in  the  even- 
ings she  was  often  less  fatigued  than  a  semp- 
stress generally  is.  She  wanted  distraction, 
and  she  found  it  in  the  realisation  of  an  old 
desire  to  write.  She  wrote,  not  because  she 
could  find  nothing  else  to  do,  but  because  at 
last  the  chance  of  writing  had  come.  That 
she  had  always  loved  reading  is  plain  from 
certain  incidents  in  this  present  book;  her 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

opportunities  for  reading,  however,  had  been 
limited.  She  now  began,  in  a  tentative  and 
perhaps  desultory  fashion,  to  set  down  her 
youthful  reminiscences.  About  this  time  she 
became  acquainted,  through  one  of  its  mem- 
bers, and  by  one  of  those  hazards  of  destiny 
which  too  rarely  diversify  the  dull  industrial 
life  of  a  city,  with  a  circle  of  young  literary 
men,  of  whom  possibly  the  most  important 
was  the  regretted  Charles  Louis  Philippe, 
author  of  "Bubu  de  Montparnasse,"  and  other 
novels  which  have  a  genuine  reputation 
among  the  chosen  people  who  know  the  dif- 
ference between  literature  and  its  counterfeit. 
This  circle  of  friends  used  to  meet  at  Phi- 
lippe's flat.  It  included  a  number  of  talented 
writers,  among  whom  I  should  mention  MM. 
lehl  (the  author  of  "Cauet"),  Francis  Jour- 
dam,  Paul  Fargue,  Larbaud,  Chanvin,  Mar- 
cel Ray,  and  Regis  Gignoux  (the  literary  and 
dramatic  critic).  Marguerite  Audoux  was 
not  introduced  as  a  literary  prodigy.  No- 
body, indeed,  was  aware  that  she  wrote.  She 
came  on  her  merits  as  an  individuality,  and 
she  took  her  place  beside  several  other  women 
who,  like  herself,  had  no  literary  pretensions. 
I  am  told  by  one  of  the  intimates  of  the  fel- 
lowship that  the  impression  she  made  was  pro- 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

found.  And  the  fact  is  indubitable  that  her 
friends  are  at  least  as  enthusiastic  about  her 
individuality  as  about  this  book  which  she 
has  written.  She  was  a  little  over  thirty,  and 
very  pretty,  with  an  agreeable  voice.  The 
sobriety  of  her  charm,  the  clear  depth  of  her 
emotional  faculty,  and  the  breadth  of  her  gen- 
tle interest  in  human  nature  handsomely  con- 
quered the  entire  fellowship.  The  working 
sempstress  was  sincerely  esteemed  by  some  of 
the  brightest  masculine  intellects  in  Paris. 

This  admiring  appreciation  naturally  en- 
couraged her  to  speak  a  little  of  herself.  And 
one  evening  she  confessed  that  she,  too,  had 
been  trying  to  write.  On  another  evening 
she  brought  some  sheets  of  manuscript — the 
draft  of  the  early  chapters  of  "Marie-Claire" 
— and  read  them  aloud.  She  read,  I  am  told, 
very  well.  The  reception  was  enthusiastic. 
One  can  imagine  the  ecstatic  fervour  of  these 
young  men,  startled  by  the  apparition  of  such 
a  shining  talent.  She  must  continue  the  writ- 
ing of  her  book,  but  in  the  meantime  she  must 
produce  some  short  stories  and  sketches  for 
the  daily  papers !  Her  gift  must  be  presented 
to  the  public  instantly!  She  followed  the  ad- 
vice thus  urgently  offered,  and  several  mem- 
bers of  the  circle  (in  particular  Regis  Gignoux 


x  INTRODUCTION 

and  Marcel  Ray)  gave  themselves  up  to  the 
business  of  placing  the  stories  and  sketches; 
Marcel  Ray  devoted  whole  days  to  the  effort, 
obtaining  special  leave  from  his  own  duties 
in  order  to  do  so.  In  the  result  several  stories 
and  sketches  appeared  in  the  Matin,  Paris 
Journal  (respectively  the  least  and  the  most 
literary  of  Paris  morning  papers),  and  other 
organs.  These  stories,  and  sketches,  by  the 
way,  were  republished  in  a  small  volume, 
some  time  before  "Marie-Claire,"  and  at- 
tracted no  general  attention  whatever. 

Meanwhile  the  more  important  work  pro- 
ceeded, slowly;  and  was  at  length  finished. 
Its  composition  stretched  over  a  period  of  six 
years.  Marguerite  Audoux  never  hurried 
nor  fatigued  herself,  and  though  she  re-wrote 
many  passages  several  times,  she  did  not  carry 
this  revision  to  the  meticulous  excess  which  is 
the  ruin  of  so  many  ardent  literary  beginners 
in  France.  The  trite  phrase,  "written  with 
blood  and  tears,"  does  not  in  the  least  apply 
here.  A  native  wisdom  has  invariably  saved 
Marguerite  Audoux  from  the  dangerous  ex- 
treme. In  his  preface  to  the  original  French 
edition,  M.  Octave  Mirbeau  appositely  points 
out  that  Philippe  and  her  other  friends  ab- 
stained from  giving  purely  literary  advice  to 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

the  authoress  as  her  book  grew  and  was  read 
aloud.  With  the  insight  of  artists  they  per- 
ceived that  hers  was  a  talent  which  must  be 
strictly  let  alone.  But  Parisian  rumour  has 
alleged,  not  merely  that  she  was  advised,  but 
that  she  was  actually  helped  in  the  writing  by 
her  admirers.  The  rumour  is  worse  than 
false — it  is  silly.  Every  paragraph  of  the 
work  bears  the  unmistakable  and  inimitable 
work  of  one  individuality.  And  among  the 
friends  of  Marguerite  Audoux,  even  the  most 
gifted,  there  is  none  who  could  possibly  have 
composed  any  of  the  passages  which  have  been 
singled  out  as  being  beyond  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  working  sempstress.  The  whole 
work  and  every  part  of  the  work  is  the  un- 
assisted and  untutored  production  of  its 
author.  This  statement  cannot  be  too  clearly 
and  positively  made.  Doubtless  the  spelling 
was  drastically  corrected  by  the  proof-readers ; 
but  to  have  one's  spelling  drastically  corrected 
is  an  experience  which  occurs  to  nearly  all 
women  writers,  and  to  a  few  male  writers. 

The  book  completed,  the  question  of  its 
proper  flotation  arose.  I  use  the  word  "flota- 
tion" with  intent.  Although  Marguerite 
Audoux  had  originally  no  thought  of  pub- 
lishing, her  friends  were  firmly  bent  not  sim- 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

ply  on  publishing,  but  on  publishing  with  the 
maximum  of  eclat.  A  great  name  was  neces- 
sary to  the  success  of  the  enterprise,  a  name 
which,  while  keeping  the  sympathy  of  the 
artists,  would  impose  itself  on  the  crowd. 
Francis  Jourdain  knew  Octave  Mirbeau.  And 
Octave  Mirbeau,  by  virtue  of  his  feverish 
artistic  and  moral  enthusiasm,  of  his  notori- 
ous generosity,  and  of  his  enormous  vogue, 
was  obviously  the  heaven-appointed  man. 
Francis  Jourdain  went  to  Octave  Mirbeau 
and  offered  him  the  privilege  of  floating 
"Marie-Claire"  on  the  literary  market  of 
Paris.  Octave  Mirbeau  accepted,  and  he 
went  to  work  on  the  business  as  he  goes  to 
work  on  all  his  business;  that  is  to  say,  with 
flames  and  lightnings.  For  some  time  Octave 
Mirbeau  lived  for  nothing  but  "Marie- 
Claire."  The  result  has  been  vastly  credit- 
able to  him.  "Marie-Claire"  was  finally 
launched  in  splendour.  Its  path  had  been 
prepared  with  really  remarkable  skill  in  the 
Press  and  in  the  world,  and  it  was  an  exceed- 
ingly brilliant  success  from  the  start.  It  ran 
a  triumphant  course  as  a  serial  in  one  of  the 
"great  reviews,"  and  within  a  few  weeks  of 
its  publication  as  a  book  thirty  thousand 
copies  had  been  sold.  The  sale  continues  more 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

actively  than  ever.  Marguerite  Audoux  lives 
precisely  as  she  lived  before.  She  is  writing 
a  further  instalment  of  her  pseudonymous 
autobiography,  and  there  is  no  apparent  rea- 
son why  this  new  instalment  should  not  be 
even  better  than  the  first. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  book. 

My  task  is  not  to  criticise  the  work.  I  will 
only  say  this.  In  my  opinion  it  is  highly  dis- 
tinguished of  its  kind  (the  second  part  in  par- 
ticular is  full  of  marvellous  beauty)  ;  but  it 
must  be  accepted  for  what  it  is.  It  makes  no 
sort  of  pretence  to  display  those  constructive 
and  inventive  artifices  which  are  indispen- 
sable to  a  great  masterpiece  of  impersonal 
fiction.  It  is  not  fiction.  It  is  the  exquisite 
expression  of  a  temperament.  It  is  a  divine 
accident. 

ARNOLD  BENNETT. 


PART  I 


MARIE-CLAIRE 


ONE  day  a  number  of  people  came  to 
the  house.  The  men  came  in  as 
though  they  were  going  into  church, 
and  the  women  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  as 
they  went  out. 

I  slipped  into  my  parents'  bedroom  and 
was  greatly  surprised  to  see  that  my  mother 
had  a  big  lighted  candle  by  her  bedside. 
My  father  was  leaning  over  the  foot  of  the 
bed  looking  at  my  mother.  She  was  asleep 
with  her  hands  crossed  on  her  breast. 

Our  neighbour,  la  mere  Colas,  kept  us 
with  her  all  day.  As  the  women  went  out 
again  she  said  to  them,  "No,  she  would  not 
kiss  her  children  good-bye."  The  women, 
looking  at  us,  blew  their  noses,  and  la  mere 
Colas  added,  "  That  sort  of  illness  makes  one 
unkind,  I  suppose."  A  few  days  afterwards 
we  were  given  new  dresses  with  big  black 
and  white  checks. 

La  mere  Colas  used  to  give  us  our  meals 
and  send  us  out  to  play  in  the  fields.  My 
sister,  who  was  a  big  girl,  scrambled  into  the 


2  MARIE-CLAIRE 

hedges,  climbed  the  trees,  messed  about  in  the 
ponds,  and  used  to  come  home  at  night  with 
her  pockets  full  of  creatures  of  all  kinds, 
which  frightened  me  and  made  la  mere  Colas 
furiously  angry. 

What  I  hated  most  were  the  earthworms. 
The  red  elastic  things  made  me  shiver  with 
horror,  and  if  I  happened  to  step  on  one  it 
made  me  quite  ill.  When  I  had  a  pain  in  my 
side  la  mere  Colas  used  to  forbid  my  sister  to 
go  out.  But  my  sister  got  tired  of  remaining 
indoors  and  wanted  to  go  out  and  take  me 
with  her.  So  she  used  to  go  and  collect 
earthworms,  and  hold  them  up  close  to  my 
face.  Then  I  said  that  I  wasn't  in  pain  any 
more,  and  la  mere  Colas  used  to  send  us  both 
out  of  doors.  One  day  my  sister  threw  a 
handful  of  earthworms  on  to  my  dress.  I 
jumped  back  so  quickly  that  I  fell  into  a  tub 
of  hot  water.  La  mere  Colas  was  very  angry 
while  she  undressed  me.  I  was  not  very 
much  hurt.  She  promised  my  sister  a  good 
slapping,  and  called  to  the  sweeps,  who  were 
passing,  to  come  in  and  take  her  away.  All 
three  of  them  came  in,  with  their  black  bags 
and  their  ropes.  My  sister  howled  and  cried 
for  mercy.  I  was  very  much  ashamed  at 
being  all  undressed. 


MY  father  often  took  us  to  a  place  where 
there  were  men  who  drank  wine. 
He  used  to  put  me  on  a  table  among 
the  glasses,  and  make  me  sing.  The  men 
would  laugh  and  kiss  me,  and  try  and  make 
me  drink  wine.  It  was  always  dark  when  we 
went  home.  My  father  took  long  steps,  and 
rocked  himself  as  he  walked.  He  nearly 
tumbled  down  lots  of  times.  Sometimes  he 
would  begin  to  cry  and  say  that  his  house  had 
been  stolen.  Then  my  sister  used  to  scream. 
It  was  always  she  who  used  to  find  the  house. 
One  morning  la  mere  Colas  loaded  us  with 
reproaches,  telling  us  that  we  were  children 
of  misfortune,  and  that  she  would  not  feed  us 
any  longer.  We  could  go,  she  said,  and  look 
for  our  father,  who  had  gone  away,  nobody 
knew  where.  When  her  anger  had  passed 
she  gave  us  our  breakfasts  as  usual,  but  a  few 
days  afterwards  we  were  put  into  pere  Chi- 
con's  cart.  The  cart  was  full  of  straw  and 
bags  of  corn.  I  was  tucked  away  behind  in  a 
little  hollow  between  the  sacks.  The  cart 

3 


4  MARIE-CLAIRE 

tipped  down  at  the  back,  and  every  jolt  made 
me  slip  on  the  straw. 

I  was  very  frightened  all  the  way  along. 
Every  time  I  slipped  I  thought  that  the  cart 
was  going  to  drop  me,  or  that  the  sacks  were 
going  to  fall  on  me.  We  stopped  at  an  inn. 
A  woman  lifted  us  down,  shook  the  straw  off 
our  dresses,  and  gave  us  some  milk  to  drink. 
While  she  was  fondling  us  I  heard  her  say 
to  pere  Chicon,  "You  really  think  their 
father  will  take  care  of  them,  then?"  Pere 
Chicon  shook  his  head,  and  knocked  his  pipe 
against  the  table.  Then  he  made  a  funny  face 
and  said,  "He  may  be  anywhere.  Young  Gir- 
ard  told  me  he  had  met  him  on  the  Paris 
road."  After  a  while  pere  Chicon  took  us  to 
a  big  house  with  a  lot  of  steps  leading  up  to 
the  door.  He  had  a  long  talk  with  a  gentle- 
man who  waved  his  arms  about  and  talked 
about  the  dignity  of  labour.  The  gentleman 
put  his  hand  on  my  head  and  patted  it,  and 
I  heard  him  say  several  times,  "  He  did  not 
tell  me  that  he  had  any  children."  I  under- 
stood that  he  was  talking  of  my  father,  and  I 
asked  if  I  could  see  him.  The  gentleman 
looked  at  me  without  answering,  and  then 
asked  pere  Chicon,  "How  old  is  she?"  "About 
five,"  the  old  man  replied.  All  this  time  my 


MARIE-CLAIRE  5 

sister  was  playing  up  and  down  the  steps  with 
a  kitten.  We  went  back  in  the  cart  to  mere 
Colas  again.  She  received  us  crossly  and 
pushed  us  about.  A  few  days  afterwards  she 
took  us  to  the  railway  station,  and  that  even- 
ing we  went  to  a  big  house,  where  there  were 
a  lot  of  little  girls. 

Sister  Gabrielle  separated  us  at  once.  She 
said  that  my  sister  was  big  enough  to  be  with 
the  middle-sized  girls,  while  I  was  to  stay 
with  the  little  ones.  Sister  Gabrielle  was 
quite  small,  quite  old,  quite  thin,  and  all  bent 
up.  She  managed  the  dormitory  and  the 
refectory.  She  used  to  make  the  salad  in  a 
huge  yellow  jar.  She  tucked  her  sleeves  up 
to  her  shoulders,  and  dipped  her  arms  in  and 
out  of  the  salad.  Her  arms  were  dark  and 
knotted,  and  when  they  came  out  of  the  jar, 
all  shining  and  dripping,  they  made  me  think 
of  dead  branches  on  rainy  days. 


I  MADE  a  chum  at  once.  She  came  danc- 
ing up  to  me  and  looked  impudent,  I 
thought.  She  did  not  stand  any  higher 
than  the  bench  on  which  I  was  sitting.  She  put 
her  elbows  on  my  knees  and  said :  "Why  aren't 
you  playing  about?"  I  told  her  that  I  had  a 
pain  in  my  side.  "Oh,  of  course,"  she  said, 
"your  mother  had  consumption,  and  Sister 
Gabrielle  said  you  would  soon  die."  She 
climbed  up  on  to  the  bench,  and  sat  down, 
hiding  her  little  legs  under  her.  Then  she 
asked  me  my  name  and  my  age,  told  me  that 
her  name  was  Ismerie,  and  that  she  was  older 
than  I  was,  and  that  the  doctor  said  she  would 
never  get  any  bigger.  She  told  me  also  that 
the  class  mistress  was  called  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee,  and  that  she  was  very  unkind,  and  pun- 
ished you  severely  if  you  talked  too  much. 
All  of  a  sudden  she  jumped  down  and  shouted 
"Augustine."  Her  voice  was  like  a  boy's, 
and  her  legs  were  a  little  twisted.  At  the 
end  of  recreation  I  saw  her  on  Augustine's 
back.  Augustine  was  rolling  her  from  one 
shoulder  to  the  other,  as  if  she  meant  to  throw 

6 


MARIE-CLAIRE  7 

her  down.  In  passing  me  Ismerie  called  out 
in  that  big  voice  of  hers,  "You  will  carry  me 
too  sometimes,  won't  you?"  I  soon  became 
friends  with  Augustine. 


MY  eyes  were  not  well.  At  night  my 
eyelids  used  to  close  up  tight,  and  I 
was  quite  blind  until  I  had  them 
washed.  Augustine  was  told  off  to  take  me 
to  the  infirmary.  Every  morning  she  used  to 
come  and  fetch  me  to  the  little  dormitory. 
I  could  hear  her  coming  before  she  got  to  the 
door.  She  used  to  catch  me  by  the  hand  and 
pull  me  along,  and  she  didn't  mind  a  bit  when 
I  bumped  against  the  beds.  We  flew  down 
the  passages  like  the  wind,  and  rushed  down 
the  two  flights  of  stairs  like  an  avalanche.  My 
feet  only  touched  a  step  now  and  again.  I 
used  to  go  down  those  stairs  as  if  I  was  falling 
down  a  well.  Augustine  had  strong  hands 
and  held  me  tight.  To  go  to  the  infirmary  we 
had  to  pass  behind  the  chapel  and  then  in 
front  of  a  little  white  house.  There  we  hur- 
ried more  than  ever.  One  day  when  I  fell  on 
to  my  knees,  she  pulled  me  up  again  and 
smacked  my  head,  saying,  "Do  be  quick,  we 
are  in  front  of  the  dead  house."  After  that 
she  was  always  afraid  of  my  falling  again, 
and  used  to  tell  me  when  we  got  in  front  of 

8 


MARIE-CLAIRE  9 

the  dead  house.  I  was  frightened  chiefly 
because  Augustine  was  frightened.  If  she 
rushed  along  like  that  there  must  be  danger. 
I  was  always  out  of  breath  when  I  got  to  the 
infirmary.  Somebody  pushed  me  on  to  a 
little  chair,  and  the  pain  in  my  side  had  been 
gone  a  long  time  when  they  came  and  washed 
my  eyes.  It  was  Augustine  who  took  me  into 
Sister  Marie-Aimee's  classroom.  She  put  on 
a  timid  kind  of  voice,  and  said,  "Sister,  here 
is  a  new  girl."  I  expected  to  be  scolded;  but 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  smiled,  kissed  me  seyeral 
times,  and  said,  "You  are  too  small  to  sit  on 
a  bench,  I  shall  put  you  in  here."  And  she 
sat  me  down  on  a  stool  in  the  hollow  of  her 
desk.  It  was  ever  so  comfortable ;  the  warmth 
of  her  woollen  petticoat  soothed  my  body, 
which  was  bruised  all  over  by  tumbling  about 
on  the  wooden  and  stone  staircases.  Often 
two  feet  hemmed  me  in  on  each  side  of  my 
stool,  and  two  warm  legs  made  a  back  for  me. 
A  groping  hand  pressed  my  head  on  to  the 
woollen  skirt  between  the  knees,  and  the  soft- 
ness of  the  hand  and  the  warmth  of  the  pil- 
low used  to  send  me  to  sleep.  When  I  woke 
up  again  the  pillow  became  a  table.  The 
same  hand  put  bits  of  cake  on  it  and  morsels 
of  sugar  and  sweets  sometimes.  And  all 


10  MARIE-CLAIRE 

round  me  I  heard  the  world  living.  A  voice 
with  tears  in  it  would  say,  "No,  Sister,  I  didn't 
do  it."  Then  shrill  voices  would  say,  "Yes, 
she  did,  Sister."  Above  my  head  a  full  warm 
voice  called  for  silence.  Then  there  would 
be  a  rap  of  a  ruler  on  the  desk.  It  would 
make  an  enormous  noise  down  in  my  hollow. 
Sometimes  the  feet  would  be  drawn  away  from 
my  little  stool,  the  knees  would  be  drawn  to- 
gether, the  chair  would  move,  and  I  would 
see  coming  down  to  my  nest  a  white  veil,  a 
narrow  chin,  smiling  lips  with  little  white 
pointed  teeth  behind  them,  and  last  of  all  two 
eyes  which  seemed  to  cuddle  me  and  make  me 
feel  comfortable. 


WHEN  my  eyes  got  better  I  used  to  get 
an  alphabet  as  well  as  sweets  and 
cakes.  It  was  a  little  book  with  pic- 
tures next  to  the  words.  I  often  used  to  look 
at  a  great  big  strawberry  which  I  fancied  as 
big  as  a  bun.  When  it  was  not  cold  in  the 
classroom,  Sister  Marie-Aimee  put  me  on  a 
bench  between  Ismerie  and  Marie  Renaud, 
who  slept  in  the  two  beds  next  to  mine.  Now 
and  then  she  used  to  let  me  go  back  to  my 
hollow  again,  and  I  loved  that.  I  used  to 
find  books  there  with  pictures,  which  made 
me  forget  all  about  the  time. 

One  morning  Ismerie  took  me  into  a  corner, 
and  told  me  with  great  secrecy  that  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  was  not  going  to  take  the  class 
any  more  because  she  was  going  to  take  Sis- 
ter Gabrielle's  place  in  the  dormitory  and  the 
refectory.  She  did  not  tell  me  who  had  told 
her  this,  but  she  was  very  grieved  about  it.  She 
was  very  fond  of  Sister  Gabrielle,  who  used 
to  treat  her  like  a  little  child.  She  did  not 
like  "that  Sister  Marie-Aimee,"  as  she  used 
to  call  her  when  she  knew  that  nobody  heard 

11 


12  MARIE-CLAIRE 

her  but  ourselves.  She  said  that  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  would  not  let  her  climb  on  to  our 
backs,  and  that  we  should  not  be  able  to  make 
fun  of  her  as  we  used  to  of  Sister  Gabrielle, 
who  always  went  upstairs  sideways.  In  the 
evening  after  prayers  Sister  Gabrielle  told  us 
that  she  was  going.  She  kissed  us  all,  begin- 
ning with  the  smallest  of  us.  We  went  up  to 
the  dormitory  making  a  dreadful  noise.  The 
big  girls  whispered  together  and  said  they 
would  not  put  up  with  Sister  Marie- Aimee. 
The  little  ones  snivelled  as  though  they  were 
going  into  danger.  Ismerie,  whom  I  was 
carrying  upstairs  on  my  back,  was  crying 
noisily.  Her  little  fingers  strangled  me,  and 
her  tears  fell  down  my  neck.  Nobody  thought 
of  laughing  at  Sister  Gabrielle,  who  went  up- 
stairs slowly,  saying,  "Hush,  hush,"  all  the 
time,  without  making  the  noise  any  less.  The 
servant  in  the  dormitory  was  crying  too. 
She  shook  me  a  little  while  she  was  undressing 
me  and  said,  "I'm  sure  you  are  pleased  at  hav- 
ing that  Sister  Marie-Aimee  of  yours."  We 
used  to  call  the  servant  Bonne  Esther.  I  liked 
her  best  of  the  three  servants.  She  was  rather 
rough  sometimes,  but  she  was  fond  of  us.  In 
the  night  she  would  waken  those  who  had  un- 
fortunate habits  that  they  might  be  spared  the 


MARIE-CLAIRE  13 

cane  in  the  morning.  When  I  coughed  she 
used  to  get  up  and  put  a  piece  of  sugar  in  my 
mouth.  And  often  she  took  me  out  of  my  bed 
when  I  was  cold,  and  warmed  me  in  her  own. 


NEXT  morning  we  went  down  to  the  re- 
fectory in  dead  silence.  The  servants 
told  us  to  remain  standing.  Several 
of  the  big  girls  stood  very  straight  and  looked 
proud.  Bonne  Justine  stood  at  one  end  of 
the  table.  She  looked  sad  and  bent  her  head. 
Bonne  Neron,  who  looked  like  a  gendarme, 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  middle  of  the  re- 
fectory. Now  and  then  she  looked  at  the 
clock,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  came  in,  leaving  the  door  open 
behind  her.  She  seemed  to  me  to  be  bigger 
than  usual,  in  her  white  apron  and  white  cuffs. 
She  walked  slowly,  looking  at  us  all.  The 
rosary,  which  hung  at  her  side,  made  a  little 
clickety  sound,  and  her  skirt  swung  slightly 
as  she  walked.  She  went  up  the  three  steps 
to  her  desk,  and  made  a  sign  to  us  to  sit  down. 
In  the  afternoon  she  took  us  out  for  a  walk  in 
the  country.  It  was  very  hot.  I  went  and 
sat  down  near  her  on  a  little  hillock.  She 
was  reading  a  book,  and  every  now  and  then 
looked  at  the  little  girls  who  were  playing  in 
a  field  below  us.  She  looked  at  the  sun  which 

14 


MARIE-CLAIRE  15 

was  setting,  and  kept  on  saying,  "How  lovely 
it  is,  how  lovely  it  is." 

That  evening  the  birch  which  Sister  Ga- 
brielle  kept  in  the  dormitory  was  put  away  in 
a  cupboard,  and  in  the  refectory  the  salad  was 
turned  with  two  long  wooden  spoons.  These 
were  the  only  changes.  We  went  into  class 
from  nine  o'clock  till  twelve,  and  in  the  after- 
noon we  cracked  nuts,  which  were  sold  to  an 
oil  merchant.  The  bigger  girls  used  to  crack 
them  with  a  hammer,  and  the  little  ones  took 
them  out  of  the  shells.  We  were  forbidden 
to  eat  them,  and  it  wasn't  at  all  easy.  One  of 
the  girls  would  always  sneak  if  we  did, 
because  she  was  greedy  too,  and  jealous. 
Bonne  Esther  used  to  peep  into  our  mouths. 
Sometimes  she  caught  a  very  greedy  girl. 
Then  she  used  to  roll  her  eyes  at  her,  give  her 
a  little  smack,  and  say,  "I've  got  my  eye  on 
you."  Some  of  us  she  trusted.  She  would 
make  us  turn  round  and  open  our  mouths  and 
pretend  to  look  at  them,  and  then  she  said, 
"Shut  your  beaks,  birdies,"  and  laughed. 

I  often  wanted  to  eat  the  nuts.  But  I  would 
look  at  Bonne  Esther  and  blush  at  the  idea 
of  cheating  her,  because  she  trusted  me.  But 
after  a  time  I  wanted  to  eat  nuts  so  badly  that 
I  could  not  think  of  anything  else.  Every 


16  MARIE-CLAIRE 

day  I  tried  to  think  of  some  way  of  eating  them 
without  being  caught.  I  tried  to  slip  some 
into  my  sleeves,  but  I  was  so  awkward  that  I 
always  dropped  them.  Besides,  I  wanted  to 
eat  a  lot  of  them,  a  great  big  lot.  I  thought 
I  should  like  to  eat  a  sackful.  One  day  I 
managed  to  steal  some.  Bonne  Esther,  who 
was  taking  us  up  to  bed,  slipped  on  a  nutshell 
and  dropped  her  lantern,  which  went  out.  I 
was  close  to  a  big  bowl  of  nuts,  and  I  took  a 
handful  and  put  them  in  my  pocket.  As  soon 
as  everybody  was  in  bed  I  took  the  nuts  out 
of  my  pocket,  put  my  head  under  the  sheets 
and  crammed  them  into  my  mouth.  But  it 
seemed  to  me  at  once  as  though  everybody  in 
the  dormitory  must  hear  the  noise  that  my 
jaws  were  making.  I  did  all  I  could  to 
munch  slowly  and  quietly,  but  the  noise 
thumped  in  my  ears  like  the  blows  of  a  mallet. 
Bonne  Esther  got  up,  lit  the  lamp,  stooped 
clown  and  looked  under  the  beds.  When  she 
came  to  mine  I  looked  out  at  her  trembling. 
She  whispered,  "Aren't  you  asleep  yet?"  and 
went  on  looking.  She  went  down  to  the  end 
of  the  dormitory,  opened  the  door,  and  closed 
it  again ;  but  she  was  hardly  back  in  bed  with 
the  light  out  before  the  latch  of  the  door  made 
a  little  sound  as  though  somebody  were  open- 


MARIE-CLAIRE  17 

ing  it.  Bonne  Esther  lit  her  lamp  again  and 
said,  "Whatever  is  it?  It  cannot  be  the  cat 
opening  the  door  by  itself."  It  seemed  to  me 
that  she  was  afraid.  I  heard  her  moving 
about  in  her  bed,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she  called 
out  "Oh  dear,  oh  dear."  Ismerie  asked  her 
what  the  matter  was.  She  said  that  a  hand 
had  opened  the  door,  and  she  had  felt  a  breath 
on  her  face.  In  the  twi-darkness  we  saw  the 
door  half  open.  I  was  very  frightened.  I 
thought  it  was  the  devil  who  had  come  to  fetch 
me.  We  waited  a  long,  long  time,  but  we 
heard  nothing  more.  Bonne  Esther  asked 
if  one  of  us  would  get  up  and  put  the  light  out, 
although  it  was  not  very  far  from  her  own  bed. 
Nobody  answered.  Then  she  called  me.  I 
got  up  and  she  said,  "You  are  such  a  good 
little  girl  that  ghosts  won't  do  any  harm  to 
you."  She  put  her  head  under  the  bedclothes, 
and  I  blew  the  lamp  out.  And  directly  it 
was  put  out  I  saw  thousands  of  shining  specks 
of  light,  and  felt  something  cold  on  my  cheeks. 
I  was  sure  that  there  were  green  dragons,  with 
mouths  aflame,  under  the  beds.  I  could  feel 
their  claws  on  my  feet,  and  lights  were  jump- 
ing about  on  each  side  of  my  head.  I  wanted 
to  sit  down,  and  when  I  got  to  my  bed  I  was 
quite  sure  that  my  two  feet  had  gone.  When 


18  MARIE-CLAIRE 

I  dared,  I  stooped  down  and  felt  for  them. 
They  were  very  cold.  I  went  to  sleep  at  last 
holding  them  in  my  two  hands. 

In  the  morning  Bonne  Esther  found  the  cat 
on  a  bed  near  the  door.  She  had  had  kittens 
during  the  night.  When  Sister  Marie- Aimee 
was  told  about  it,  she  said  that  the  cat  had  cer- 
tainly opened  the  door  by  jumping  at  the 
latch.  But  we  never  felt  sure  about  that,  and 
the  little  girls  used  to  talk  about  it  in  low 
voices  for  a  long  time. 


NEXT  week  all  the  girls  who  were  eight 
years  old  went  down  to  the  big  dormi- 
tory. I  had  a  bed  near  the  window, 
quite  close  to  Sister  Marie- Aimee's  room. 
Marie  Renaud  and  Ismerie  again  had  their 
beds  on  each  side  of  me.  When  we  were  in 
bed  Sister  Marie-Aimee  often  used  to  come 
and  sit  by  me.  She  would  take  one  of  my 
hands  and  pat  it,  and  look  out  of  the  window. 
One  night  there  was  a  big  fire  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  the  whole  dormitory  was  lit  up. 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  opened  the  window  wide, 
shook  me  and  said,  "Wake  up,  come  and  see 
the  fire."  She  took  me  in  her  arms,  passed 
her  hands  over  my  face  to  wake  me,  and  said 
again,  "Come  and  see  the  fire;  see  how  beauti- 
ful it  is."  I  was  so  sleepy  that  I  let  my  head 
fall  on  her  shoulder.  Then  che  boxed  my 
ears,  and  called  me  a  little  silly,  and  I  woke 
up  and  began  to  cry.  She  took  me  in  her 
arms  again,  sat  down,  and  rocked  me,  holding 
me  close  to  her.  She  bent  her  head  forward 
towards  the  window.  Her  face  looked  trans- 
parent, and  her  eyes  were  full  of  light.  Is- 

19 


20  MARIE-CLAIRE 

merie  hated  Sister  Marie-Aimee  to  come  to 
the  window.  It  prevented  her  from  talking, 
and  she  always  had  something  to  say.  Her 
voice  was  so  loud  that  one  heard  it  at  the  other 
end  of  the  dormitory.  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
used  to  say,  "There's  Ismerie  talking  again" ; 
and  Ismerie  used  to  answer,  "There's  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  scolding  again."  Her  daring 
frightened  me,  but  Sister  Marie-Aimee  used 
to  pretend  not  to  hear  her.  But  one  day  she 
said,  "I  forbid  you  to  answer  me,  little  dwarf." 
Ismerie  answered  "Nosums."  This  was  a 
word  which  we  had  made  up  ourselves.  It 
meant  "Look  at  my  nose  and  see  if  I  care." 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  reached  for  the  cane.  I 
was  dreadfully  afraid  she  was  going  to  whip 
Ismerie.  But  Ismerie  threw  herself  down  flat 
on  her  stomach  and  wriggled  about  and  made 
funny  noises.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  pushed  her 
away  with  her  foot  in  disgust,  threw  the  cane 
away,  and  said,  "Oh,  you  horrible  little  thing!" 
Afterwards  I  noticed  that  she  used  to  avoid 
looking  at  her,  and  never  seemed  to  hear  the 
rude  things  she  said.  But  she  forbade  us  to 
carry  her  about  on  our  backs. 

That  never  prevented  Ismerie  from  climb- 
ing on  to  mine  like  a  monkey.  I  hadn't  the 
courage  to  push  her  away,  and  I  used  to  stoop 


MARIE-CLAIRE  21 

down  a  little  to  let  her  get  well  up.  She  al- 
ways wanted  to  ride  when  we  went  up  to  the 
dormitory.  It  was  very  hard  for  her  to  get  up 
the  stairs.  She  used  to  laugh  about  it  herself, 
saying  that  she  hopped  up  like  an  old  hen 
going  to  roost.  As  Sister  Marie-Aimee  al- 
ways went  upstairs  first,  I  used  to  wait  and  go 
up  among  the  last  girls.  But  sometimes  Sis- 
ter Marie-Aimee  would  turn  round  suddenly. 
Then  Ismerie  slipped  down  my  body  to  the 
ground  with  wonderful  quickness  and  skill. 
I  always  felt  a  little  bit  awkward  when  I 
caught  Sister  Marie- Aimee's  eye,  and  Ismerie 
always  said,  "See  what  a  fool  you  are.  You 
were  caught  again."  Marie  Renaud  would 
never  let  her  climb  up  on  to  her  back.  She 
used  to  say  that  she  wore  her  dress  out  and 
made  it  dirty. 


1SMERIE  was  a  little  chatterbox,  but 
Marie  Renaud  hardly  ever  talked  at  all. 
Every  morning  she  used  to  help  me  to 
make  my  bed.  She  would  pass  her  hands  over 
the  sheets  to  smooth  them  out,  and  always  re- 
fused my  help  in  making  her  bed,  because  she 
said  I  rolled  the  sheets  all  kinds  of  ways.  I 
never  could  understand  why  her  bed  was  so 
smooth  when  she  got  up.  One  day  she  told 
me  that  she  pinned  her  sheets  and  her  blankets 
to  the  mattress.  She  had  all  kinds  of  little  hid- 
ing places  full  of  all  kinds  of  things.  At 
table  she  always  used  to  eat  some  of  yester- 
day's dessert.  The  dessert  of  the  day  went 
into  her  pocket.  She  used  to  finger  it  there, 
and  would  munch  a  little  bit  of  it  from  time  to 
time.  I  often  found  her  sitting  in  corners 
making  lace  with  a  pin.  Her  great  pleasure 
was  brushing,  folding,  and  putting  things  in 
order.  That  was  why  my  shoes  were  always 
well  brushed  and  my  Sunday  dress  carefully 
folded.  But  one  day  a  new  servant  came, 
whose  name  was  Madeleine.  She  soon  found 
out  that  I  did  not  take  care  of  my-  own  things. 

22 


MARIE-CLAIRE  23 

She  got  excited,  and  said  I  was  a  great  big 
lazy  girl,  and  that  I  made  other  people  wait 
on  me  as  though  I  were  a  countess.  She  said 
it  was  a  shame  to  make  poor  little  Marie 
Renaud  work.  Bonne  Neron  agreed  with 
her,  and  said  I  was  puffed  up  with  pride,  that 
I  thought  I  was  better  than  anybody  else,  that 
I  never  did  anything  like  other  girls.  They 
both  said,  together,  that  they  had  never  seen  a 
girl  like  me,  and  both  of  them  leaned  over  me 
and  shouted  at  me  together.  They  made  me 
think  of  two  noisy  fairies,  a  black  one  and  a 
white  one.  Madeleine  was  fresh  and  fair, 
with  full  open  lips,  and  teeth  which  were  wide 
apart.  Her  tongue  was  broad  and  thick,  and 
moved  about  into  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
when  she  talked.  Bonne  Neron  raised  her 
hand  to  me,  and  said,  "Drop  your  eyes  this 
minute!"  As  they  went  away,  I  heard  her  say 
to  Madeleine:  "She  makes  you  ashamed  of 
yourself  when  she  looks  at  you  like  that."  I 
had  known  for  a  long  time  that  Bonne  Neron 
looked  like  a  bull,  but  I  could  not  find 
out  what  animal  Madeleine  resembled.  I 
thought  it  over  for  several  days,  thinking  of 
all  the  animals  I  knew,  and  at  last  I  gave  it 
up.  She  was  fat,  and  her  hips  swayed  when 
she  walked.  She  had  a  piercing  voice,  which 


24  MARIE-CLAIRE 

surprised  everybody.  She  asked  leave  to  sing 
in  church,  but  as  she  did  not  know  the  hymns, 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  told  me  to  teach  her.  Af- 
ter that  Marie  Renaud  was  allowed  to  brush 
and  smooth  out  my  things  without  anybody 
taking  any  notice  of  it.  She  was  so  pleased 
that  she  gave  me  a  safety-pin  as  a  present,  so 
as  to  fasten  up  my  handkerchief,  which  I  was 
always  losing.  Two  days  later  I  lost  both  the 
safety-pin  and  the  handkerchief.  Oh,  that 
handkerchief!  It  was  a  perfect  nightmarel 
I  used  to  lose  one  regularly  every  week.  Sis- 
ter Marie-Aimee  gave  us  a  clean  pocket-hand- 
kerchief in  return  for  the  dirty  one  which  we 
had  to  throw  down  on  to  the  ground  in  front 
of  her.  I  never  thought  of  mine  till  the  last 
moment.  And  then  I  turned  out  all  my  pock- 
ets, and  ran  about  like  a  mad  thing,  into  the 
dormitory,  up  and  down  the  passages,  and  up 
to  the  garret  hunting  for  it  everywhere.  Oh 
dear,  oh  dear!  if  I  could  only  find  a  handker- 
chief somewhere!  As  I  passed  in  front  of  the 
picture  of  the  Virgin,  I  would  put  my  hands 
together  and  pray  fervently,  "Admirable 
Mother,  make  me  find  a  handkerchief."  But 
I  never  did  find  one,  and  I  went  downstairs 
again  red  in  the  face,  out  of  breath,  feeling 
dreadfully  unhappy,  and  not  daring  to  take 


MARIE-CLAIRE  25 

the  clean  handkerchief  which  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  handed  to  me.  Before  she  spoke,  I 
could  hear  the  scolding  which  I  knew  I  de- 
served. And  even  when  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
said  nothing  at  all  I  could  see  her  frown,  and 
her  eyes  looked  crossly  at  me  and  followed  me 
about.  I  felt  crushed  with  shame,  so  crushed 
that  I  could  scarcely  lift  my  feet.  I  tried  to 
hide  in  the  corners  as  I  walked;  and,  in  spite 
of  it  all,  next  time  I  had  lost  my  handkerchief 
again.  Madeleine  used  to  look  at  me  with 
sham  compassion.  But  she  could  not  always 
prevent  herself  from  telling  me  that  I  de- 
served to  be  punished  severely.  She  seemed 
very  fond  of  Sister  Marie-Aimee.  She  waited 
on  her  always,  and  she  would  burst  into  tears 
at  her  slightest  word.  Then  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  had  to  soothe  her  by  patting  her  cheeks, 
and  she  would  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time, 
and  move  her  shoulders  about,  showing  her 
white  neck.  Bonne  Neron  used  to  say  that 
she  looked  like  a  cat 


BONNE  NERON  left  one  day  after  a 
scene  in  the  middle  of  luncheon.  It 
happened  during  a  dead  silence.  All  of 
a  sudden  she  shouted  out,  "Yes;  I  want  to 
go,  and  I  am  going!"  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  and  Bonne 
Neron  faced  her,  putting  her  head  down,  shak- 
ing it,  butting  at  her  almost,  and  shouting  all 
the  time  that  she  would  not  be  ordered  about 
by  a  bit  of  a  baby.  She  walked  backwards 
as  she  shouted,  got  to  the  door,  and  pulled  it 
open.  Before  she  went  out  of  the  room  she 
threw  one  of  her  long  arms  out  at  Sister 
Marie-Aimee,  and  shrieked,  "She  isn't  even 
twenty-five!"  Some  of  the  little  girls  were 
frightened,  others  burst  out  laughing.  Made- 
leine got  quite  hysterical.  She  threw  herself 
on  to  the  floor  at  Sister  Marie-AimeVs  knees, 
kissing  her  dress,  and  winding  her  arms  round 
her  legs.  She  got  hold  of  her  two  hands  and 
mumbled  over  them  with  her  big,  moist 
mouth,  screaming  all  the  time  as  though  some 
terrible  catastrophe  had  happened.  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  could  not  shake  her  off.  At 


MARIE-CLAIRE  27 

last  she  got  angry.  Then  Madeleine  fainted, 
and  fell  on  her  back.  As  she  was  undoing  her 
Sister  Marie- Aimee  made  a  sign  towards  the 
part  of  the  room  where  I  was.  Thinking  she 
wanted  me,  I  ran  to  her;  but  she  sent  me  back 
again.  "No;  not  you.  Marie  Renaud,"  she 
said.  She  gave  her  keys  to  Marie,  and,  al- 
though she  had  never  been  in  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee's  room,  she  found  the  bottle  of  salts 
which  Sister  Marie-Aimee  wanted  without 
any  loss  of  time. 


MADELEINE  soon  got  better,  and 
took  Bonne  Neron's  place.  She  got 
more  authority  over  us.  She  was  still 
timid  and  submissive  to  Sister  Marie- Aimee, 
but  she  made  up  for  that  by  shouting  at  us,  for 
any  reason  and  no  reason,  that  she  was  "there 
to  look  after  us,"  and  was  "not  our  servant." 
The  day  she  fainted  I  had  seen  her  bosom.  I 
had  never  dreamt  of  anything  so  beautiful. 
But  she  was  a  stupid  girl,  and  I  never  minded 
what  she  said  to  me.  That  used  to  make  her 
very  angry.  She  used  to  say  all  kinds  of  rude 
things  to  me,  and  always  finished  up  by  call- 
ing me  "Miss  Princess."  She  could  not  for- 
give me  for  Sister  Marie-Aimee's  affection  for 
me,  and  whenever  she  saw  the  Sister  kissing 
me  she  got  quite  red  with  annoyance. 

I  began  to  grow,  and  my  health  was  pretty 
good.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  said  that  she  was 
proud  of  me.  She  used  to  squeeze  me  so  tight 
when  she  kissed  me  that  she  sometimes  hurt 
me.  Then  she  would  say,  putting  her  fingers 
on  my  forehead,  "My  little  girl;  my  little 
child."  During  recreation  I  often  used  to  sit 


MARIE-CLAIRE  29 

near  her,  and  listen  to  her  reading.  She  read 
in  a  deep  voice,  and  when  the  people  in  the 
book  displeased  her  more  than  usual,  she  used 
to  shut  it  up  violently,  and  come  and  play 
games  with  us. 

She  wanted  me  to  be  quite  faultless.  She 
would  say:  "I  want  you  to  be  perfect.  Do 
you  hear,  child?  Perfect."  One  day  she 
thought  I  had  told  a  lie.  There  were  three 
cows  which  used  to  graze  on  some  land  in  the 
middle  of  which  was  a  great  big  chestnut  tree. 
The  white  cow  was  wicked,  and  we  were 
afraid  of  it,  because  it  had  knocked  a  little 
girl  down  once.  That  day  I  saw  the  two  red 
cows,  and  just  under  the  chestnut  tree  I  saw 
a  big  black  cow.  I  said  to  Ismerie:  "Look; 
the  white  cow  has  been  sent  away  because  she 
was  wicked,  I  expect."  Ismerie,  who  was 
cross  that  day,  screamed,  and  said  that  I  was 
always  laughing  at  the  others,  and  trying  to 
make  them  believe  things  which  were  not  true. 
I  showed  her  the  cow.  She  said  it  was  a 
white  one.  I  said,  "No,  it  is  a  black  one." 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  heard  us.  She  was  very 
angry,  and  said,  "How  dare  you  say  that  the 
cow  is  black?"  Then  the  cow  moved.  She 
looked  black  and  white  now,  and  I  understood 
that  I  had  made  a  mistake  because  of  the 


30  MARIE-CLAIRE 

shadow  of  the  chestnut  tree.  I  was  so  sur- 
prised that  I  could  not  find  anything  to  say. 
I  did  not  know  how  to  explain  it.  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  shook  me.  "Why  did  you  tell 
a  lie?"  she  said.  I  answered  that  I  did  not 
know.  She  sent  me  into  a  corner  in  the 
shed,  and  told  me  that  I  should  have  nothing 
but  bread  and  water  that  day.  As  I  had  not 
told  a  lie,  the  punishment  did  not  worry  me. 
The  shed  had  a  lot  of  old  cupboards  in  it,  and 
some  garden  tools.  I  climbed  from  one  thing 
on  to  the  other,  and  got  right  up  and  sat  on  the 
top  of  the  highest  cupboard.  I  was  ten  years 
old,  and  it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever 
been  alone.  I  felt  pleased  at  this.  I  sat  there, 
swinging  my  legs,  and  began  to  imagine  a 
whole  invisible  world".  The  old  cupboard 
with  rusty,  locks  became  the  entrance  gate  to 
a  magnificent  palace.  I  was  a  little  girl  who 
had  been  left  on  the  top  of  a  mountain.  A 
beautiful  lady  dressed  like  a  fairy  had  seen 
me  up  there  and  had  come  to  fetch  me.  Three 
or  four  lovely  ducks  ran  in  front  of  her.  They 
had  just  come  up  to  me  when  I  saw  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  standing  in  front  of  the  cup- 
board with  the  rusty  locks  and  looking  about 
for  me  everywhere.  I  did  not  know  that  I 
was  sitting  on  the  cupboard.  I  still  believed 


MARIE-CLAIRE  31 

myself  to  be  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  I 
felt  cross  because  Sister  Marie- Aimee's  arrival 
had  made  the  palace  and  the  lovely  lady  dis- 
appear. She  saw  my  legs  swinging,  and  just 
as  she  saw  me  I  remembered  that  I  was  sitting 
on  the  cupboard.  She  stood  there  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  up  at  me.  Then  she  took  a 
piece  of  bread,  a  piece  of  sausage,  and  a  little 
bottle  of  wine  out  of  the  pocket  of  her  dress, 
showed  me  one  thing  after  the  other,  and  in 
an  angry  voice  said,  "This  was  for  you. 
There!"  And  she  put  it  all  back  into  her 
pocket  and  went  away.  A  moment  after- 
wards Madeleine  brought  me  some  bread  and 
water,  and  I  remained  in  the  shed  till  evening. 


SISTER  MARIE-AIMEE  ha'd  been 
growing  sadder  and  sadder  for  some 
time.  She  never  played  with  us  any 
more,  and  often  she  used  to  forget  our  dinner 
time.  Madeleine  would  send  me  to  the 
chapel  to  fetch  her,  and  I  would  find  her  there 
on  her  knees  with  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands.  I  had  to  pull  at  her  dress  before  she 
took  any  notice  of  me.  Often  I  thought  that 
she  had  been  crying,  but  I  never  dared  to  look 
at  her  closely  for  fear  she  would  get  angry. 
She  seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought,  and  when  we 
spoke  to  her,  she  answered  "Yes"  or  "No" 
quite  sharply. 

But  she  took  a  great  interest  in  the  little 
feast  which  we  had  at  Easter  every  year.  She 
had  the  cakes  brought  in,  and  we  put  them  on 
a  table  and  covered  them  with  a  white  cloth, 
so  that  the  greedy  girls  should  not  see  them 
all  at  the  same  time.  On  feast  days  we  were 
allowed  to  talk  as  much  as  we  liked  at  table, 
and  we  made  a  tremendous  noise.  Sister 
Marie- Aimee  waited  on  us  with  a  smile  and  a 
word  for  each  of  us.  That  day  she  was  going 


MARIE-CLAIRE  33 

to  serve  the  cakes,  and  Madeleine,  who  was 
helping  her,  was  taking  off  the  cloth  which 
covered  them.  Then  a  cat,  which  had  been 
under  the  cloth,  jumped  down  and  ran  away. 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  and  Madeleine  both  said 
"Oh,"  and  Madeleine  said,  "The  dirty  beast 
has  been  nibbling  all  the  cakes."  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  did  not  like  the  cat.  She  stood 
perfectly  still  for  a  minute,  then  ran  to  the 
corner,  took  a  stick  and  ran  after  it.  It  was 
horrible.  The  cat  was  frightened  out  of  its 
wits,  and  jumped  this  way  and  that  out  of  the 
way  of  the  stick  with  which  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  kept  hitting  the  benches  and  the  walls. 
All  the  little  girls  were  frightened,  and 
ran  towards  the  door.  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
stopped  them.  "Nobody  is  to  go  out,"  she 
said.  I  hardly  knew  her.  Her  lips  were 
pressed  together,  her  cheeks  were  as  white  as 
her  cap,  and  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  flame, 
frightened  me  so  that  I  hid  my  face  in  the 
hollow  of  my  arm.  I  did  not  want  to  do  so, 
but  I  soon  looked  up  again.  The  cat  hunt 
was  still  going  on.  Sister  Marie-Aimee,  with 
her  stick  in  the  air,  ran  after  the  cat  without 
saying  a  word.  Her  lips  were  open,  and  I 
could  see  her  little  pointed  teeth.  She  ran 
about,  jumping  over  the  benches,  and  climbed 


34  MARIE-CLAIRE 

up  on  to  the  table,  lifting  her  petticoats  as  she 
did  so.  When  she  was  going  to  hit  the  cat  it 
jumped  and  ran  up  a  curtain  right  on  to  the 
top  of  the  window.  Madeleine,  who  had 
been  following  Sister  Marie-Aimee  about, 
wanted  to  go  and  fetch  a  longer  stick,  but  Sis- 
ter Marie-Aimee  stopped  her,  and  said,  "It  is 
lucky  to  have  got  away."  Bonne  Justine,  who 
svas  standing  near  me,  hid  her  eyes  and  mur- 
mured, "Oh,  it  is  shameful,  shameful!"  and  I 
thought  it  was  shameful,  too.  I  felt  as  though 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  had  grown  smaller.  I 
had  always  thought  her  quite  faultless.  I 
compared  this  scene  with  another  one,  which 
had  happened  one  day  when  there  was  a  big 
thunder-storm.  That  day  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  had  been  wonderful.  While  she  was 
chasing  the  cat  I  could  see  her,  that  other  day, 
as  she  stood  on  a  bench,  and  closed  the  win- 
dows quietly,  lifting  her  lovely  arms.  Her 
wide  sleeves  fell  down  on  her  shoulders,  and 
while  we  shivered  and  shook  in  terror  at  the 
lightning  and  the  buffeting  of  the  wind  she 
said  quietly,  "It  is  quite  a  hurricane."  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  made  the  little  girls  stand  on 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  She  opened  the 
door  wide?  and  the  cat  rushed  out. 


ONE  afternoon  I  was  surprised  to  see  that 
it  was  not  our  old  priest  who  was  say- 
ing vespers.  This  one  was  a  tall,  fine 
man.  He  sang  with  a  strong,  jerky  voice. 
We  talked  about  him  all  the  evening.  Made- 
leine said  he  was  a  handsome  man,  and  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  thought,  she  said,  that  he  had 
a  young  voice,  but  that  he  pronounced  his 
words  like  an  old  man,  and  that  he  was  dis- 
tinguished looking.  When  he  came  to  pay  us 
a  visit  two  or  three  days  afterwards,  I  saw 
that  he  had  white  hair  in  little  curls  round  his 
neck,  and  that  his  eyes  and  his  eyebrows  were 
very  black.  He  asked  for  those  of  us  who 
were  preparing  their  catechism,  and  wanted 
to  know  everybody's  name.  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  answered  for  me.  She  put  her  hand 
on  my  head  and  said,  "This  is  our  Marie- 
Claire."  When  Ismerie  came  up  in  her  turn 
he  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  made  her  turn 
round  and  walk  for  him  to  see.  He  said  that 
she  was  no  bigger  than  a  child  of  three,  and 
when  he  asked  Sister  Marie-Aimee  if  she  was 
intelligent^  Ismerie  turned  round  sharply  and 


36  MARIE-CLAIRE 

said  that  she  was  not  as  stupid  as  the  rest  of 
us.  He  burst  out  laughing,  and  I  saw  that  his 
teeth  were  very  white.  When  he  spoke  he 
jerked  himself  forward  as  though  he  wanted 
to  catch  his  words  again.  They  seemed  to 
drop  out  of  his  mouth  in  spite  of  himself. 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  took  him  as  far  as  the 
gate  of  the  courtyard.  She  never  used  to 
take  any  visitors  farther  than  the  door  of  the 
room.  She  came  back,  climbed  up  to  her 
desk  again,  and  after  a  moment  she  said,  with- 
out looking  at  anybody,  "He  really  is  a  very 
distinguished  man." 

Our  new  priest  lived  in  a  little  house  near 
the  chapel.  In  the  evening  he  used  to  walk 
in  the  avenue  of  linden  trees.  He  often  passed 
close  to  the  playground  where  we  were  play- 
ing, and  he  always  used  to  bow  very  low  to 
Sister  Marie-Aimee.  Every  Thursday  after- 
noon he  came  to  see  us.  He  sat  down,  leaning 
against  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  crossing  his 
legs,  told  us  stories.  He  was  very  pleasant, 
and  Sister  Marie-Aimee  used  to  say  that  he 
laughed  as  though  he  enjoyed  it.  Sometimes 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  was  ill.  Then  he  used  to 
go  up  and  see  her  in  her  room.  We  would 
see  Madeleine  passing  with  a  teapot  and  two 
cups.  She  was  red  in  the  face  and  very  busy. 


MARIE-CLAIRE  37 

When  the  summer  was  over,  M.  le  Cure 
came  to  see  us  after  dinner  and  spent  the  even- 
ings with  us.  When  nine  o'clock  struck  he 
used  to  go,  and  Sister  Marie-Aimee  always 
went  with  him  down  the  passage  to  the  big 
front  door. 


HE  had  been  with  us  for  a  year,  and  I 
could  never  get  used  to  making  con- 
fession to  him.  He  often  used  to 
look  at  me  and  laugh  in  a  way  that  made  me 
think  that  he  remembered  my  faults.  We 
went  to  confession  on  fixed  days.  Each  one 
of  us  took  her  turn.  When  there  were  only 
one  or  two  to  go  in  before  me  I  began  to  trem- 
ble. My  heart  beat  dreadfully  fast,  and  I  got 
cramp  in  my  stomach,  which  prevented  me 
from  breathing  properly.  When  my  turn 
came  I  got  up  and  felt  my  legs  trembling 
under  me.  My  head  buzzed,  and  my  cheeks 
turned  cold.  I  fell  on  my  knees  in  the  con- 
fessional and  M.  le  Cure's  voice,  which 
sounded  as  though  it  came  from  a  long  way 
off,  gave  me  confidence.  But  he  always  had 
to  help  me  to  remember  my  faults.  If  he 
hadn't,  I  should  have  forgotten  half  of  them. 
At  the  end  of  confession  he  always  asked  me 
what  my  name  was.  I  longed  to  tell  him  an- 
other name,  but  while  I  was  wondering  if  I 
dare,  my;  own  name  used  to  slip  out  of  my 
mouth. 

38 


MARIE-CLAIRE  39 

It  was  getting  near  the  time  for  our  Com- 
munion. It  was  to  be  in  May,  and  prepara- 
tions for  it  were  beginning.  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  composed  some  new  hymns.  She  had 
made  one,  which  was  a  sort  of  thanksgiving 
for  M.  le  Cure.  A  'fortnight  before  the  cere- 
mony they  separated  us  from  the  others.  We 
had  prayed  all  day  long.  Madeleine  was 
supposed  to  see  that  we  were  not  disturbed  at 
prayer,  but  she  often  used  to  disturb  us  herself 
by  quarrelling  with  one  of  us.  My  fellow 
communicant  was  called  Sophie.  She  was 
a  quiet  little  girl,  and  we  always  kept  out  of 
the  quarrels.  We  used  to  talk  over  serious 
matters.  I  often  told  her  how  much  I  hated 
confession,  and  how  frightened  I  was  that  I 
should  pass  through  my  communion  badly. 
She  was  very  good,  and  she  did  not  understand 
what  I  had  to  be  afraid  of.  She  thought  that 
I  was  not  pious  enough,  and  she  had  noticed 
that  I  used  to  go  to  sleep  during  prayers.  She 
confessed  to  me  that  she  was  very  frightened 
of  death.  She  used  to  talk  about  it  in  a  low 
voice,  and  looked  very  frightened.  Her  eyes 
were  green,  and  her  hair  was  so  lovely  that 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  would  never  have  it  cut 
short  like  that  of  the  other  girls. 

At  last  the  great  day  came.     My  general 


40  MARIE-CLAIRE 

confession  had  passed  off  all  right.  It  gave 
me  the  same  feeling  that  a  bath  does.  I  felt 
very  clean  after  it,  but  I  trembled  so  when  I 
was  given  the  holy  wafer  that  a  bit  of  it  stuck 
in  my  teeth.  A  sort  of  dizziness  came  over 
me,  and  I  felt  as  though  a  big  black  curtain 
had  dropped  in  front  of  my  eyes.  I  thought 
I  heard  Sister  Marie-Aimee's  voice  asking 
"Are  you  ill,"  and  I  seemed  to  know  that  she 
went  with  me  as  far  as  my  prie-dieu,  and  that 
she  put  my  taper  into  my  hand  and  said  "Hold 
it  tight."  My  throat  had  grown  so  tight  that 
I  could  not  swallow,  and  I  felt  a  liquid  drop- 
ping from  my  mouth  into  my  throat.  Then 
I  was  wildly  frightened,  for  Madeleine  had 
warned  us  repeatedly  that  if  we  bit  the  holy 
wafer  the  blood  of  Christ  would  trickle  from 
our  mouths,  and  that  nobody  would  be  able  to 
stop  it.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  wiped  my  face 
and  whispered  quite  low,  "Take  care,  dear. 
Are  you  ill?"  My  throat  loosened,  and  I 
quickly  swallowed  the  wafer.  Then  at  last  I 
dared  to  look  down  to  see  the  blood  on  my 
dress,  but  I  saw  only  a  little  grey  spot  like  a 
'drop  of  water.  I  put  my  handkerchief  to  my 
lips  and  wiped  my  tongue.  There  was  not  a 
particle  of  blood  on  it.  I  did  not  feel  quite 
sure  yet,  but  when  we  got  up  to  sing  I  tried 


MARIE-CLAIRE  41 

to  sing  with  the  others.  When  M.  le  Cure 
came  to  see  us  later  in  the  day  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  told  him  that  I  had  almost  fainted  at 
Communion.  He  took  my  chin  in  his  hand 
and  tipped  my  face  up  towards  him.  Then, 
after  looking  into  my  eyes,  he  began  to  laugh, 
and  said  that  I  was  a  very  sensitive  little  girl. 


AFTER  our  first  communion  we  did  not 
attend  class  any  more.  Bonne  Justine 
taught  us  to  sew.  We  made  caps  for 
peasant  women.  It  was  not  very  difficult,  and 
as  it  was  something  new  I  worked  hard. 
Bonne  Justine  said  that  I  should  make  a  very 
good  needle-woman.  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
used  to  kiss  me  and  say,  "So  you  would,  if  you 
could  only  get  over  your  laziness."  But  when 
I  had  made  a  few  caps  and  had  to  go  on  doing 
the  same  thing  over  and  over  again,  my  lazi- 
ness got  the  better  of  me.  The  work  bored 
me,  and  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  do 
it.  I  could  have  remained  for  hours  and 
hours  without  moving,  watching  the  others 
work.  Marie  Renaud  never  spoke  to  us 
while  she  was  sewing.  Her  stitches  were  so 
small  and  so  close  together  that  one  needed 
good  eyes  to  see  them.  Ismerie  sang  all  the 
time  she  sewed,  and  nobody  ever  scolded  her. 
Some  of  the  girls  sewed  with  bent  backs 
and  a  frown  on  their  foreheads.  Their  fingers 
were  moist,  and  their  needles  squeaked. 
Others  sewed  slowly  and  carefully,  without 

42 


MARIE-CLAIRE  43 

getting  tired  or  bored,  counting  their  stitches 
under  their  breath.  That  is  the  way  I 
should  have  liked  to  sew.  I  used  to  growl 
at  myself  for  not  doing  so,  and  then  I  used 
to  imitate  them  for  a  few  minutes.  But 
the  least  sound  disturbed  me,  and  I  would 
stop  and  listen,  or  look  at  what  was  going  on 
all  round  me.  Madeleine  said  that  my  nose 
was  always  in  the  air.  I  spent  most  of  my 
time  imagining  needles  which  would  sew  all 
by  themselves.  For  a  long  time  I  hoped  that 
an  old  woman,  whom  nobody  would  see  but  I, 
would  come  out  of  the  big  fireplace  and  sew 
my  cap  for  me  very  quickly.  At  last  I  took 
no  notice  of  Sister  Marie-Aimee's  scolding, 
and  she  didn't  know  what  to  do  to  make  me 
work.  One  day  she  decided  that  I  was  to 
read  aloud  twice  a  day.  It  was  a  great  joy  for 
me.  The  time  to  begin  reading  never  seemed 
to  come  quickly  enough,  and  I  was  always 
sorry  when  I  closed  the  book. 


WHEN  I  had  finished  reading  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  used  to  make  Colette 
the  cripple  sing  to  us.  She  always 
sang  the  same  songs,  but  her  voice  was  so 
lovely  that  we  never  got  tired  of  listening  to 
it.  She  sang  quite  simply,  without  stopping 
her  work,  and  she  kept  time  with  her  head  as 
she  sang.  Bonne  Justine,  who  knew  all  about 
everybody,  told  us  that  Colette  had  been 
brought  in  with  both  legs  broken,  when  she 
was  quite  a  tiny  child.  She  was  twenty  now. 
She  walked  laboriously,  helping  herself  with 
two  sticks;  she  would  never  use  crutches  be- 
cause she  was  afraid  of  looking  like  an  old 
woman.  During  recreation  I  always  used  to 
see  her  alone  on  a  bench.  She  kept  on  throw- 
ing herself  back  and  stretching.  Her  dark 
eyes  had  such  big  pupils  that  one  hardly 
saw  the  whites  at  all.  I  felt  drawn  towards 
her.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  been  her 
friend.  She  seemed  very  proud,  and  when- 
ever I  did  any  little  thing  for  her  she  had  a 
way  of  saying,  "Thank  you,  little  one,"  which 
made  me  remember  that  I  was  only  twelve 

44 


MARIE-CLAIRE  45 

years  old.  Madeleine  told  me,  mysteriously, 
that  we  were  not  allowed  to  talk  to  Colette 
alone,  and  when  I  wanted  to  know  why,  she 
reeled  out  a  long  complicated  story  which  told 
me  nothing  at  all.  I  asked  Bonne  Justine, 
who  used  a  lot  of  words  which  I  didn't  under- 
stand, but  told  me  that  a  little  girl  like  me 
must  not  be  alone  with  Colette.  I  could 
never  understand  why.  I  noticed  that  every 
time  one  of  the  big  girls  gave  her  her  arm  to 
help  her  to  walk  about  a  little,  three  or  four 
other  girls  always  came  up  and  talked  and 
laughed  with  them.  I  thought  that  she  had 
no  friends.  A  feeling  of  great  pity  drew  me 
to  her,  and  one  day  when  she  was  all  alone  I 
asked  her  to  take  my  arm  for  a  little  walk.  I 
was  standing  in  front  of  her  timidly,  but  I 
knew  that  she  would  not  refuse.  She  looked 
at  me  and  said,  "You  know  it  is  not  allowed." 
I  nodded  "Yes."  She  looked  at  me  again. 
"Aren't  you  afraid  of  being  punished?"  she 
said.  I  shook  my  head  to  say  "No."  I 
wanted  to  cry  and  it  made  my  throat  feel  tight. 
I  helped  her  to  get  up.  She  leaned  on  her 
stick  with  one  hand  and  put  all  her  weight 
on  my  shoulder.  I  could  see  how  difficult  it 
was  for  her  to  walk.  She  did  not  say  a  word 
to  me  while  we  were  walking,  and  when  I  had 


46  MARIE-CLAIRE 

taken  her  back  to  her  bench  she  looked  at  me 
and  said,  "Thank  you,  Marie-Claire."  When 
she  saw  me  with  Colette,  Bonne  Justine  raised 
her  arms  to  heaven  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  At  the  other  end  of  the  playground 
Madeleine  shook  her  fist  at  me  and  shouted. 


WHEN  evening  came  I  saw  that  Sister 
Marie- Aimee  knew  what  I  had  done, 
but  she  never  said  a  word  of  blame. 
At  recreation  next  day  she  drew  me  towards 
her,  took  my  head  in  her  two  hands  and  bent 
towards  me.  She  didn't  say  anything  to  me, 
but  her  eyes  plunged  right  into  my  face.  I 
felt  as  though  I  were  wrapped  up  in  her  eyes. 
I  felt  as  though  a  soft  warmth  was  all  round 
me,  and  I  felt  comfortable.  She  gave  me  a 
long  kiss  on  the  forehead,  then  smiled  at  me 
and  said,  "There.  You  are  my  beautiful 
white  lily."  I  thought  her  so  beautiful,  and 
her  eyes  shone  so  with  several  colours  in  them, 
that  I  said  to  her,  "And  you,  too,  mother;  you 
are  a  lovely  flower."  She  said  in  an  off-hand 
way,  "Yes ;  but  I  don't  count  among  the  lil- 
ies now."  Then  she  asked  almost  roughly, 
"Don't  you  love  Ismerie  any  more?"  "Yes, 
mother."  "Really.  Then  what  about  Co- 
lette?" "I  love  Colette  too,"  "Oh,  you  love 
everybody!"  she  said. 


I  USED  to  give  Colette  my  arm  nearly 
every  day.  She  never  talked  to  me 
much,  and  then  only  about  the  other 
girls.  When  I  sat  down  next  to  her  she  used 
to  look  at  me  curiously.  She  said  she  thought 
I  was  a  queer  little  thing.  One  day  she  asked 
me  if  I  thought  her  pretty.  Directly  she  said 
it,  I  remembered  that  Sister  Marie- Aimee  said 
that  she  was  as  black  as  a  mole.  I  saw,  how- 
ever, that  she  had  a  broad  forehead,  fine  big 
eyes,  and  the  rest  of  her  face  was  small  and  re- 
fined. Whenever  I  looked  at  her,  I  didn't 
quite  know  why,  but  I  thought  of  a  well,  deep 
and  dark,  and  full  of  hot  water.  No,  I  didn't 
think  her  pretty,  but  I  wouldn't  tell  her  so  be- 
cause she  was  a  cripple.  I  said  she  would  be 
much  prettier  if  her  skin  were  whiter.  Little 
by  little  I  became  her  friend.  She  told  me 
that  she  hoped  to  go  away  and  get  married 
like  Nina  had  done.  Nina  used  to  come  and 
see  us  on  Sundays  with  her  child.  Colette 
took  hold  of  my  arm  and  said,  "You  see, 
I  must  get  married.  I  must."  Then  she 
stretched  herself,  bending  her  whole  body  f or- 

48 


MARIE-CLAIRE  49 

ward.  Sometimes  she  used  to  cry,  and  was 
in  such  deep  trouble  that  I  could  not  find 
anything  to  say  to  her.  She  would  look  at 
her  poor  twisted  legs,  and  groan  out,  "There 
would  have  to  be  a  miracle  for  me  to  get  away 
from  here." 

All  of  a  sudden  I  got  the  idea  that  the  Vir- 
gin could  bring  this  miracle  about.  Colette 
thought  it  a  splendid  idea.  She  was  quite 
surprised  that  she  had  never  dreamed  of  it. 
It  was  only  fair  that  she  should  have  legs  like 
the  others.  She  wanted  to  see  about  it  at 
once.  She  explained  to  me  that  several  girls 
would  be  necessary  for  the  nine  days'  prayer, 
and  said  that  we  must  go  and  purify  ourselves 
at  communion,  and  that  during  nine  days  we 
would  pray  all  the  time,  so  as  to  get  help  from 
Our  Lady  in  heaven.  This  had  to  be  done  in 
the  greatest  secrecy.  It  was  arranged  that 
my  friend  Sophie  should  be  one  of  us  because 
she  was  so  very  religious,  and  Colette  said  she 
would  talk  to  some  of  the  big  girls  who  were 
good,  too.  Two  days  afterwards  it  was  all 
arranged.  Colette  was  to  fast  during  the  nine 
days.  On  the  tenth  day,  which  would  be  a 
Sunday,  she  would  go  to  communion  as  usual, 
leaning  on  her  stick  and  the  arm  of  one  of 
us.  Then,  when  she  had  taken  the  holy  wafer, 


50  MARIE-CLAIRE 

she  would  make  a  vow  to  bring  up  her  chil- 
dren in  the  love  of  the  Virgin,  and  after  that 
she  would  rise  up  straight  and  would  sing  the 
"Te  Deum"  in  her  beautiful  voice,  and  we 
would  all  sing  it  with  her. 

For  nine  days  I  prayed  with  more  fervour 
than  I  had  ever  prayed  before.  The  ordinary 
prayers  seemed  insipid.  I  recited  the  Vir- 
gin's Litany.  I  hunted  up  the  most  beautiful 
hymns  of  praise  that  I  could  find,  and  repeated 
them  without  getting  tired.  "Star  of  the 
Morning,  make  Colette  whole."  The  first 
time,  I  remained  on  my  knees  for  so  long 
that  Sister  Marie-Aimee  scolded  me.  No- 
body noticed  the  little  signs  which  we  made 
to  one  another,  and  the  nine  days  of  prayer 
passed  off  without  any  one  knowing  anything 
about  them. 


was  very  pale  when  she  came 
to  mass.  Her  cheeks  were  thinner 
than  ever,  and  she  stood  with  her  eyes 
cast  down.  Her  eyelids  were  deep  violet.  I 
thought  to  myself  that  the  end  of  her  martyr- 
dom had  come,  and  I  was  filled  with  a  deep 
joy.  Quite  close  to  me,  the  picture  of  the 
Virgin  in  a  flowing  white  robe  smiled  as  it 
looked  at  me,  and  in  an  outburst  of  all  my 
faith  my  thoughts  cried  out,  "Oh,  Mirror  of 
Justice,  make  Colette  whole."  My  tem- 
ples were  stretched  tightly.  I  was  strain- 
ing every  nerve  to  keep  my  thoughts  from 
wandering,  and  I  went  on  saying,  "Oh,  Mir- 
ror of  Justice,  make  Colette  whole!"  Colette 
went  up  to  the  communion  table.  Her  stick 
made  a  little  clickety  noise  on  the  flagstones. 
When  she  was  on  her  knees  the  girl  who  had 
gone  up  to  the  table  with  her  came  back  to 
us  with  the  stick.  She  knew  that  it  would  be 
of  no  further  use. 

Colette  tried  to  get  up,  and  fell  back  again 
on  to  her  knees.  Her  hand  groped  after  her 
stick,  and  when  she  didn't  find  it  by  her  side, 

51 


52  MARIE-CLAIRE 

she  tried  again  to  raise  herself  without  it. 
She  clung  to  the  Holy  Table  and  caught  hold 
of  the  arm  of  one  of  the  Sisters,  who  was  tak- 
ing communion  with  her.  Then  her  shoul- 
ders rocked  and  she  fell  over,  pulling  the  Sis- 
ter down  with  her.  Two  of  us  dashed  for- 
ward and  dragged  poor  Colette  to  her  bench. 
But  I  was  still  hoping  against  hope,  and  until 
mass  was  over  I  was  hoping  to  hear  the  Te 
Deum.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  went  back  to 
Colette.  The  big  girls  were  round  her  try- 
ing to  console  her,  and  advising  her  to  give 
herself  to  God  for  ever.  She  was  crying 
gently,  not  sobbing.  Her  head  was  bent  a 
little  forward,  and  her  tears  fell  on  her  hands, 
which  were  crossed  one  over  the  other.  I 
kneeled  down  in  front  of  her,  and  when  she 
looked  at  me,  I  said:  "Perhaps  you  can  get 
married  even  though  you  are  a  cripple."  Co- 
lette's story  was  soon  known  to  everybody. 
Everybody  felt  so  sad  about  it  that  we  stopped 
playing  noisy  games.  Ismerie  thought  she 
was  telling  me  a  tremendous  piece  of  news 
when  she  told  me  all  about  it.  Sophie  told 
me  that  we  must  submit  to  the  will  of  Our 
Lady,  because  she  knew  what  was  necessary 
for  Colette's  happiness  better  than  we  did. 


I  SHOULD  have  liked  to  have  known 
whether  Sister  Marie-Aimee  knew 
about  Qolette.  I  did  not  see  her  till 
the  afternoon,  when  we  were  out  walking. 
She  did  not  look  sad.  She  looked  almost 
pleased.  Never  had  I  seen  her  look  so  pretty. 
Her  whole  face  shone.  While  we  were  out 
I  noticed  that  she  walked  as  though  some- 
thing was  lifting  her  up.  I  never  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  her  walk  like  that. 
Her  veil  fluttered  a  little  at  the  shoul- 
ders, and  her  stomacher  didn't  hide  all  her 
neck.  She  paid  no  attention  to  us.  She  was 
looking  at  nothing,  but  she  seemed  to  be  see- 
ing something.  Every  now  and  then  she 
smiled  as  though  somebody  were  talking  to 
her  from  inside. 

In  the  evening  after  dinner  I  found  her  sit- 
ting on  the  old  bench  under  the  big  linden 
tree.  M.  le  Cure  was  sitting  next  to  her  with 
his  back  against  the  tree.  They  looked  seri- 
ous. I  thought  they  were  talking  about  Co- 
lette, and  I  remained  standing  some  distance 
from  them.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  was  saying, 

S3 


54  MARIE-CLAIRE 

as  though  she  were  answering  a  question, 
"Yes,  when  I  was  fifteen."  M.  le  Cure  said, 
"You  had  no  vocation  at  fifteen."  I  didn't 
hear  what  Sister  Marie-Aimee  answered,  but 
M.  le  Cure  went  on,  "Or,  rather,  at  fifteen  you 
had  every  possible  vocation.  A  kind  word, 
or  a  little  indifference  would  be  enough  to 
change  your  whole  life."  He  said  nothing 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  in  a  lower  tone, 
added,  "Your  parents  were  very  much  to 
blame."  Sister  Marie-Aimee  answered,  "I  re- 
gret nothing."  They  remained  for  a  long 
time  without  saying  a  word.  Then  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  raised  one  finger  as  though  she 
were  impressing  something  on  him,  and  said, 
"Everywhere,  in  spite  of  everything,  and  al- 
ways." M.  le  Cure  stretched  his  hand  out  a 
little  way,  laughed,  and  repeated,  "Every- 
where, in  spite  of  everything,  and  always." 

The  good  night  bell  sounded  all  of  a  sud- 
den, and  M.  le  Cure  went  off  down  the  avenue 
of  linden  trees.  For  a  long  time  afterwards 
I  used  to  repeat  the  words  I  had  heard  them 
say,  but  I  could  never  fit  them  in  to  poor  Co- 
lette's story. 


had  given  up  all  hopes  of  a 
\j  miracle  to  take  her  away,  and  yet  she 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  remain. 
When  she  saw  all  the  girls  of  her  own  age 
go  one  by  one,  she  began  to  rebel.  She  would 
not  go  to  confession  any  more,  and  she  would 
not  take  holy  communion.  She  used  to  go  to 
mass  because  she  sang  there,  and  she  was  fond 
of  music.  I  often  stopped  with  her  and  con- 
soled her.  She  explained  to  me  that  marriage 
meant  love. 


SISTER  MARIE-AIMEE,  who  had  not 
been  well  for  some  time,  became  quite 
ill.  Madeleine  nursed  her  devotedly 
and  treated  us  dreadfully  badly.  She  was 
particularly  unkind  to  me,  and  when  she  saw 
me  tired  of  sewing  she  would  say,  trying  to 
turn  her  nose  up,  "If  mademoiselle  objects 
to  sewing,  she  had  better  take  a  broom  and 
sweep."  One  Sunday  she  hit  upon  the  idea 
of  making  me  clean  the  stairs  during  mass. 
It  was  January.  A  damp  cold,  which  came 
up  from  the  passages,  climbed  the  steps  and 
got  under  my  dress.  I  swept  as  hard  as  I 
could  to  keep  warm.  The  sound  of  the  har- 
monium came  from  the  chapel  out  to  me. 
From  time  to  time  I  recognized  Madeleine's 
thin  piercing  tones,  and  M.  le  Cure's  jerky 
notes.  I  could  follow  mass  by  the  singing. 
All  of  a  sudden  Colette's  voice  rose  above  all 
the  others.  It  was  strong  and  pure.  It 
broadened,  drowned  the  sound  of  the  har- 
monium, drowned  everything  else,  and  then 
seemed  to  fly  away  over  the  linden  trees,  over 
the  house,  and  over  the  church  spire  itself. 

56 


MARIE-CLAIRE  57 

It  made  me  tremble,  and  when  the  voice  came 
down  to  earth,  trembling  a  little  as  it  went 
back  into  the  church  and  was  swept  up  by 
the  sound  of  the  harmonium  again,  I  began 
to  cry,  sobbing  as  though  I  were  quite  a  little 
girl.  Then  Madeleine's  sharp  voice  pierced 
through  the  others  once  more,  and  I  swept 
and  swept  hard  as  though  my  broom  could 
scratch  out  the  voice  which  was  so  disagree- 
able to  me. 


THAT  was  the  day  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
called  me  to  her.  She  had  been  up 
in  her  room  for  two  months.  She 
was  getting  a  little  better,  but  I  noticed  that 
her  eyes  did  not  shine  at  all.  They  made  me 
think  of  a  rainbow  which  had  almost  melted 
away.  She  made  me  tell  her  funny  little 
stories  about  what  had  been  going  on.  She 
tried  to  smile  while  she  was  listening  to  me, 
but  her  lips  only  smiled  on  one  side  of  her 
mouth.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  her 
screaming.  "Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  I  had  heard  her 
during  her  illness.  She  had  screamed  so 
dreadfully  in  the  middle  of  the  night  that  the 
whole  dormitory  had  been  kept  awake.  Made- 
leine was  coming  and  going.  We  heard  her 
splashing  water  about,  and  when  I  asked  her 
what  was  the  matter  with  Sister  Marie-Aimee, 
she  said,  as  she  hurried  past,  "The  pains."  I 
remembered  at  once  that  Bonne  Justine  used 
to  have  pains  too,  but  she  had  never  screamed 
like  that,  and  I  wondered  whether  poor  Sister 
Marie-Aimee's  legs  were  swollen  to  three 
times  their  size,  like  those  of  Bonne  Justine. 

58 


MARIE-CLAIRE  59 

Her  cries  got  worse  and  worse.  One  of  them 
was  so  terrible  that  it  seemed  to  come  from 
her  innermost  depths.  Then  we  heard  her 
moaning;  that  was  all.  A  few  moments 
afterwards  Madeleine  came  up  and  whis- 
pered to  Marie  Renaud.  Marie  Renaud 
put  on  her  dress,  and  I  heard  her  go  down- 
stairs. Directly  afterwards  she  came  back 
with  M.  le  Cure.  He  rushed  into  Sister 
Marie-Aimee's  room,  and  Madeleine  closed 
the  door  behind  him.  He  did  not  remain 
very  long,  but  he  went  away  again  much  more 
slowly  than  he  had  come.  He  walked  with 
his  head  sunk  down  between  his  shoulders, 
and  his  right  hand  was  holding  his  cloak  over 
his  left  arm,  as  though  he  were  carrying  some- 
thing valuable.  I  thought  to  myself  that  he 
was  taking  away  the  holy  oils,  and  I  did  not 
dare  ask  whether  Sister  Marie-Aimee  were 
dead.  I  have  never  forgotten  the  blow  I  got 
from  Madeleine's  fist  when  I  clung  to  her 
dress.  She  knocked  me  right  over  and  whis- 
pered, as  she  ran  past,  "She  is  better."  As 
soon  as  Sister  Marie-Aimee  was  well  again, 
Madeleine  lost  her  arrogance,  and  everything 
went  on  as  before. 


1  DISLIKED  sewing  as  much  as  ever, 
and  my  hatred  for  it  began  to  make  Sis- 
ter Marie-Aimee  uneasy.  She  men- 
tioned it  in  front  of  me  to  M.  le  Cure's  sister. 
M.  le  Cure's  sister  was  an  old  maid  with  a 
long  face  and  big  faded  eyes.  We  called  her 
Mademoiselle  Maximilienne.  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  told  her  how  anxious  she  was  about  my 
future.  She  said  that  I  learned  things  easily, 
but  that  no  kind  of  sewing  interested  me.  She 
had  noticed  for  some  time  that  I  was  fond  of 
study,  and  she  had  made  inquiries  to  find  out 
whether  I  had  no  distant  relatives  who  would 
look  after  me,  she  said.  But  the  only  relation 
I  had  was  an  old  woman  who  had  adopted  my 
sister,  but  refused  to  take  me.  Mademoiselle 
Maximilienne  offered  to  take  me  into  her 
dressmaking  business.  M.  le  Cure  thought 
that  was  a  very  good  idea,  and  said  that  he 
would  be  pleased  to  go  and  teach  me  a  little, 
twice  a  week.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  seemed 
really  happy  at  this.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  say  to  thank  them.  It  was  agreed  that  I 
should  go  to  Mademoiselle  Maximilienne  as 

60 


MARIE-CLAIRE  61 

soon  as  M.  le  Cure  returned  from  a  journey 
to  Rome  which  he  had  to  make.  Sister  Marie 
Aimee  would  get  my  outfit  ready  for  me,  and 
Mademoiselle  Maximilienne  would  go  to  the 
Mother  Superior  and  ask  her  permission,  she 
said.  I  felt  dreadfully  uncomfortable  at  the 
idea  that  the  Mother  Superior  was  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  it.  I  could  not  forget  the 
unkind  look  she  always  gave  me  when  she 
passed  the  old  bench  and  saw  me  sitting  there 
with  Sister  Marie- Aimee  and  M.  le  Cure.  So 
I  waited  impatiently  to  hear  what  she  would 
say  to  Mademoiselle  Maximilienne.  M.  le 
Cure  had  been  away  for  a  week,  and  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  used  to  talk  to  me  every  day 
about  my  new  work.  She  told  me  how  glad 
she  would  be  to  see  me  on  Sundays.  She  gave 
me  all  kinds  of  good  advice,  told  me  to  be 
good  and  to  take  care  of  my  health. 


THE  Mother  Superior  sent  for  me  one 
morning.  When  I  went  into  her  room 
I  noticed  that  she  was  sitting  in  a  big 
red  armchair.  I  began  to  remember  some 
ghost  stories  which  I  had  heard  the  girls  tell 
about  her,  and  when  I  saw  her  sitting  there, 
all  black  in  the  middle  of  all  that  red,  I  com- 
pared her  in  my  mind  to  a  huge  poppy  which 
had  grown  in  a  cellar.  She  opened  and  closed 
her  eyelids  several  times.  She  had  a  smile  on 
her  face  which  was  like  an  insult.  I  felt 
myself  blushing,  but  I  did  not  turn  my  eyes 
away.  She  gave  a  little  sneering  chuckle,  and 
said,  "You  know  why  I  sent  for  you?"  I  an- 
swered that  I  thought  it  was  to  talk  to  me  about 
Mademoiselle  Maximilienne.  She  sneered 
again,  "Oh,  yes;  Mademoiselle  Maximili- 
enne," she  said.  "Well,  my  child,  you  must 
undeceive  yourself.  We  have  made  up  our 
minds  to  place  you  on  a  farm  in  Sologne." 
She  half  closed  her  eyes  and  snapped  out, 
"You  are  to  be  a  shepherdess,  young  woman." 
Then  she  added,  rapping  the  words  out,  "You 
will  look  after  the  sheep."  I  simply  said, 
"Yery  well,  mother."  She  pulled  herself  up 

62 


MARIE-CLAIRE  63 

out  of  the  depths  of  her  armchair  and  asked 
me,  "Do  you  know  what  looking  after  the 
sheep  means?"  I  answered  that  I  had  seen 
shepherdesses  in  the  fields.  She  bent  her  yel- 
low face  towards  me  and  went  on,  "You  will 
have  to  clean  the  stables.  They  smell  very  un- 
pleasantly, and  the  shepherdesses  are  dirty. 
You  will  help  in  the  work  of  the  farm,  and 
be  taught  to  milk  the  cows  and  look  after  the 
pigs."  She  spoke  very  loud,  as  though  she 
were  afraid  I  should  not  understand  her.  I 
answered  as  I  had  answered  before,  "Very 
well,  mother."  She  pulled  herself  up  by  the 
arms  of  her  chair,  fastened  her  shining  eyes 
on  me,  and  said,  "You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  are  not  proud?"  I  smiled,  and  said, 
"No,  mother."  She  seemed  very  much  sur- 
prised, but,  as  I  went  on  smiling,  her  voice 
grew  softer.  "Really,  my  child?"  she  said. 
"I  always  thought  you  were  proud."  She 
dropped  back  into  her  chair  again,  hid 
her  eyes  under  their  lids,  and  began  talking 
quickly  in  a  monotonous  voice,  as  she  did  when 
she  said  prayers.  She  said  that  I  must  obey 
my  masters,  that  I  must  never  forget  my  re- 
ligious duties,  and  that  the  farmer's  wife 
would  come  and  fetch  me  the  day  before  the 
feast  of  St.  John. 


64  MARIE-CLAIRE 

I  went  out  of  her  room  with  feelings  that 
I  cannot  express.  But  I  felt  horribly  afraid 
of  hurting  Sister  Marie- Aimee's  feelings. 
How  could  I  tell  her?  I  had  no  time  to 
think.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  was  waiting  for 
me  in  the  passage.  She  took  hold  of  my  two 
shoulders,  bent  her  face  towards  me,  and  said, 
"Well?"  She  looked  anxious.  I  said,  "She 
wants  me  to  be  a  shepherdess."  She  did  not 
understand,  and  frowned,  "A  shepherdess," 
she  said.  "What  do  you  mean?"  I  hurried 
on,  "She  has  found  a  place  for  me  in  a  farm, 
and  I  am  to  milk  cows  and  look  after  the 
pigs."  Sister  Marie-Aimee  pushed  me  away  so 
roughly  that  I  bumped  against  the  wall.  She 
ran  towards  the  door.  I  thought  she  was  go- 
ing to  the  Mother  Superior's  room,  but  she 
went  out,  and  came  back  again,  and  began 
walking  up  and  down  the  passage,  taking 
long  steps.  Her  fists  were  clenched,  and  she 
kept  tapping  with  her  foot  on  the  floor.  She 
was  breathing  hard.  Then  she  leaned  up 
against  the  wall,  let  her  arms  fall  as  though 
she  were  overcome,  and,  in  a  voice  which 
seemed  to  come  from  a  long  way  off,  she  said : 
"She  is  revenging  herself.  Yes,  she  is  re- 
venging herself."  She  came  back  to  me, 
took  my  two  hands  affectionately  in  hers,  and 


MARIE-CLAIRE  65 

asked,  "Didn't  you  tell  her  that  you  would 
not  go?  Didn't  you  beg  her  to  let  you  go  to 
Mademoiselle  Maximilienne?"  I  shook  my 
head  and  repeated  in  her  own  words  ex- 
actly what  the  Mother  Superior  had  said  to 
me.  She  listened  without  interrupting  me. 
Then  she  told  me  to  say  nothing  about  it  to 
the  other  girls.  She  thought  that  everything 
would  be  all  right  when  M.  le  Cure  came 
back. 


NEXT  Sunday,  as  we  were  getting  into 
line  to  go  to  mass,  Madeleine  ran  into 
the  room  like  a  mad  thing.  She 
threw  her  arms  in  the  air,  and  cried  out,  "M. 
le  Cure  is  dead  I"  and  fell  right  down  across  the 
table  near  her.  Everybody  stopped  talking, 
and  we  all  ran  to  Madeleine,  who  was  scream- 
ing and  crying.  We  wanted  to  know  all 
about  it.  But  she  rocked  herself  up  and  down 
on  the  table,  and  kept  on  repeating,  "He  is 
dead!  he  is  dead!"  I  could  not  think  at  all. 
I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  sorry  or  not, 
and  all  the  time  mass  was  going  on.  Made- 
leine's voice  sounded  in  my  ears  like  a  bell. 
There  was  no  walk  that  day.  Even  the  little 
girls  kept  quite  quiet.  I  went  to  look  for  Sis- 
ter Marie- Aimee.  She  had  not  been  at  mass, 
and  I  knew  from  Marie  Renaud  that  she  was 
not  ill.  I  found  her  in  the  refectory.  She 
was  sitting  on  her  little  platform.  She  was 
leaning  her  head  sideways  on  the  table,  and 
her  arms  were  hanging  down  beside  her 
chair.  I  sat  myself  down  some  distance  away 
from  her.  But  when  I  heard  her  moaning  I 


MARIE-CLAIRE  67 

began  to  sob  too,  hiding  my  face  in  my  hands. 
But  I  did  not  sob  long,  and  I  knew  that  I  was 
not  as  sorry  as  I  wanted  to  be.  I  tried  to  cry, 
but  I  could  not  shed  a  single  tear.  I  was  a 
little  bit  ashamed  of  myself  because  I  believed 
that  one  ought  to  cry  when  somebody  died, 
and  I  didn't  dare  uncover  my  face  for  fear 
that  Sister  Marie-Aimee  should  think  that  I 
was  hard  hearted.  I  listened  to  her  crying. 
Her  moaning  reminded  me  of  the  wind  at 
winter-time  in  the  big  fireplace.  It  went  up 
and  down  as  if  she  were  trying  to  compose  a 
kind  of  song.  Then  her  voice  stumbled  and 
broke,  and  ended  up  in  deep  trembling  notes. 
A  little  before  dinner-time,  Madeleine  came 
into  the  refectory.  She  took  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  away  with  her,  putting  her  arm  round 
her,  and  taking  care  of  her  as  they  walked. 
In  the  evening  she  told  us  that  M.  le  Cure 
had  died  in  Rome,  and  that  he  would  be 
brought  back  to  be  buried  with  his  family. 


NEXT  day  Sister  Marie-Aimee  looked 
after  us  as  usual.  She  didn't  cry  any 
more,  but  she  would  not  let  us  talk  to 
her.  She  walked  along  with  her  eyes  on  the 
ground,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  me.  I 
had  only  one  day  more,  as  the  Mother  Su- 
perior had  told  me  I  should  be  fetched  next 
day,  for  the  day  after  was  the  feast  of  St. 
John.  In  the  evening,  at  the  end  of  prayers, 
when  Sister  Marie-Aimee  had  said,  "Lord,  be 
pitiful  to  exiles  and  give  your  aid  to  prison- 
ers," she  added,  in  a  loud  voice,  "We  will  say 
a  prayer  for  one  of  your  companions  who  is 
going  out  into  the  world."  I  understood  at 
once  that  she  was  talking  of  me,  and  I  felt 
that  I  was  as  much  to  be  pitied  as  the  exiles 
and  the  prisoners.  I  could  not  get  to  sleep 
that  night.  I  knew  that  I  was  going  next  day, 
but  I  didn't  know  what  Sologne  was  like.  I 
imagined  it  to  be  a  country  very  far  off,  where 
there  were  large  plains  with  flowers  on  them. 
I  pictured  myself  the  shepherdess  of  a  troop 
of  beautiful  white  sheep,  with  two  dogs  by 
my  side  which  kept  the  sheep  in  order  at  a 


MARIE-CLAIRE  69 

sign  from  me.  I  would  not  have  dared  to  tell 
Sister  Marie-Aimee  so,  but  just  then  I  liked 
the  idea  of  being  a  shepherdess  much  better 
than  the  idea  of  being  in  a  shop.  Ismerie, 
who  was  snoring  loud,  next  to  me,  reminded 
me  of  my  comrades  again. 

It  was  such  a  bright  night  that  I  could  see 
all  the  beds  quite  distinctly.  I  looked  at  one 
after  the  other,  stopping  a  little  at  those  of 
the  girls  I  was  fond  of.  Almost  opposite  me 
I  saw  my  friend  Sophie,  with  her  magnificent 
hair.  It  was  scattered  about  over  the  pillow, 
and  lighted  up  the  bed  quite  brightly.  A  little 
further  down  the  room  were  the  beds  of 
Chemineau  the  Proud,  and  her  twin  sister, 
the  Fool.  Chemineau  the  Proud  had  a  big 
smooth  white  forehead  and  gentle  eyes.  She 
never  said  it  was  not  true  when  she  was  ac- 
cused of  doing  anything  wrong.  She  simply 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  round  her 
with  contempt.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  used  to 
say  that  her  conscience  was  as  white  as  her 
forehead.  Chemineau  the  Fool  was  half  as 
tall  again  as  her  sister.  Her  hair  was  coarse, 
and  came  down  nearly  to  her  eyebrows.  Her 
shoulders  were  square,  and  her  lips  were 
broad.  We  used  to  call  her  the  sister's  watch- 
dog. And  down  at  the  other  end  of  the  dor- 


70  MARIE-CLAIRE 

mitory  was  Colette.  She  still  believed  that  I 
was  going  to  Mademoiselle  Maximilienne. 
She  was  quite  sure  that  I  should  get  married 
very  young,  and  she  had  made  me  promise  to 
come  and  fetch  her  as  soon  as  I  was  married. 
I  thought  about  her  for  a  long  time.  Then  I 
looked  at  the  window  and  the  shadows  of  the 
linden  trees  lengthened  about  me.  It  was  as 
though  they  had  come  to  say  good-bye  to  me, 
and  I  smiled  at  them.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  lindens  I  could  see  the  infirmary.  It 
looked  as  though  it  were  trying  to  hide  itself, 
and  its  little  windows  made  me  think  of  weak 
eyes.  I  looked  at  the  infirmary  for  some  time, 
thinking  of  Sister  Agatha.  She  was  so  bright 
and  so  good  that  the  little  girls  always 
laughed  when  she  scolded  them.  She  did  the 
doctoring.  When  one  of  us  went  to  her  with 
a  hurt  finger,  she  always  had  something  funny 
to  say,  and  she  always  knew  whether  we  were 
greedy  or  vain,  and  would  promise  us  a  cake 
or  a  ribbon  accordingly.  She  used  to  pre- 
tend to  look  for  it,  and  while  we  were  looking 
to  see  where  it  was,  the  bad  place  on  the  finger 
would  be  pricked,  washed,  and  tied  up.  I  re- 
member a  chilblain  that  I  had  on  my  foot 
which  would  not  get  well.  One  morning  Sis- 
ter Agatha  said  to  me  solemnly,  "Listen, 


MARIE-CLAIRE  71 

Marie-Claire.  I  must  put  something  miracu- 
lous on  this,  and  if  your  foot  is  not  better  in 
three  days,  we  shall  have  to  have  it  cut  off." 
For  three  days  I  was  very  careful  not  to  walk 
on  that  foot  so  as  not  to  disturb  this  miracu- 
lous something.  I  thought  it  must  be  a  piece 
of  the  true  cross,  or  perhaps  a  piece  of  the  veil 
of  the  Holy  Virgin.  On  the  third  day  my 
foot  was  completely  cured,  and  when  I  asked 
Sister  Agatha  what  the  miraculous  remedy 
was  that  she  had  put  on  it,  she  replied  with 
a  mischievous  laugh,  "Little  silly,  it's  the 
miraculous  ointment." 


IT  was  late  at  night  when  I  went  to  sleep, 
and  I  began  to  expect  the  farmer's  wife 
directly  morning  came.  I  wanted  her  to 
come,  and  I  was  afraid  of  her  coming.  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  raised  her  head  quickly  every 
time  the  door  opened.  Just  as  we  were  finish- 
ing dinner,  the  porteress  came  and  asked  if  I 
were  ready  to  go.  Sister  Marie-Aimee  said 
that  I  should  be  ready  in  a  moment.  She  got 
up  and  beckoned  me  to  go  with  her.  She 
helped  me  to  dress,  gave  me  a  little  bundle  of 
linen,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she  said,  "They  will 
bring  him  back  to-morrow,  and  you  will  not 
be  here."  Then  she  looked  into  my  eyes, 
"Swear  to  me,"  she  said,  "that  you  will  say 
a  De  Profundls  for  him  every  night."  I 
promised  to  do  so.  Then  she  pulled  me  to 
her  quite  roughly,  pressed  me  to  her  hard, 
and  ran  off  to  her  room.  I  heard  her  saying 
as  she  went,  "My  God !  this  is  too  much !"  I 
crossed  the  courtyard  by  myself,  and  the  far- 
mer's wife,  who  was  waiting  for  me,  took  me 
away. 


PART  II 


1WAS  tucked  in  among  a  lot  of  old 
baskets  in  a  cart  covered  with  a  hood, 
and  when  the  horse  stopped  of  his  own 
accord  at  the  farm  it  had  been  dark  for  a  long 
time. 

The  farmer  came  out  of  the  house  carrying 
a  lantern  which  he  held  high  up  in  the  air, 
and  which  only  lit  up  the  toes  of  his  wooden 
shoes.  He  came  and  helped  us  to  get  out  of 
the  cart,  then  he  lifted  his  lantern  up  to  my 
face,  stood  back  a  little  and  said,  "What  a 
funny  little  servant  girl." 

His  wife  took  me  to  a  room  where  there 
were  two  beds.  She  showed  me  mine,  and 
told  me  that  I  should  be  all  alone  on  the  farm 
with  the  cowherd  next  day,  because  every 
one  was  going  to  the  feast  of  St.  John.  As 
soon  as  I  was  up  next  morning,  the  cowherd 
took  me  to  the  stables  to  help  him  give  the 
fodder  to  the  cattle.  He  showed  me  the  sheep 
pens,  and  told  me  that  I  was  going  to  look 
after  the  lambs  instead  of  old  Bibiche.  He 
explained  to  me  that  the  lambs  were  taken 
from  their  mothers  every  year,  and  that  a 

75 


76  MARIE-CLAIRE 

special  shepherdess  was  needed  to  look  after 
them.  He  also  told  me  that  the  name  of  the 
farm  was  Villevieille,  and  that  nobody  was 
unhappy  there  because  Master*  Silvain  the 
farmer,  and  Pauline,  his  wife,  were  kind  peo- 
ple. 

When  he  had  seen  to  all  the  animals  the 
cowherd  made  me  sit  down  next  to  him  in 
the  chestnut  avenue.  Sitting  there  we  could 
see  the  bend  in  the  lane  which  went  up  to- 
wards the  high-road,  and  the  whole  of  the 
farm.  The  farm  buildings  formed  a  square 
and  the  huge  dunghill  in  the  middle  of  the 
yard  gave  off  a  warm  smell  which  mixed  with 
the  smell  of  the  half-dried  hay.  The  farm 
was  wrapped  in  silence.  I  sat  and  looked  all 
round  me.  I  could  see  nothing  but  pine-trees 
and  cornfields.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  sud- 
denly been  dropped  into  a  forgotten  country, 
where  I  should  always  remain,  along  with  the 
cowherd,  and  the  animals  which  I  could  hear 
moving  in  their  stables.  It  was  very  hot.  I 
was  numb  with  a  heavy  longing  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  fear  of  all  the  new  things  which  were 
round  me  prevented  me  from  letting  my- 
self drop  off.  Flies  of  all  possible  colours 
whizzed  round  me  with  a  little  snoring  noise. 

*On  a  French  farm  the  farmer  is  always  called  "Master." 


MARIE-CLAIRE  77 

The  cowherd  was  making  a  basket  of  rushes, 
and  the  dogs  lay  at  our  feet  fast  asleep. 

Just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  the  farmer's  cart 
turned  slowly  round  the  bend  in  the  lane. 
There  were  five  people  in  it,  two  men  and  three 
women.  As  they  passed  us,  the  farmer's  wife 
smiled  down  at  me,  and  the  others  leaned  for- 
ward to  see  me.  Soon  afterwards  the  farm 
filled  with  noise,  and  as  it  was  too  late  to 
make  soup  for  supper  we  all  supped  off  a  piece 
of  bread  and  a  bowl  of  milk. 


NEXT  day  the  farmer's  wife  gave  me  a 
rough  cloth  cloak,  and  I  went  out  with 
old  Bibiche  to  learn  how  to  look  after 
the  lambs.  Old  Bibiche  and  her  dog  Castille 
were  so  like  one  another  that  I  always  thought 
they  must  belong  to  the  same  family.  They 
looked  about  the  same  age,  and  their  eyes  were 
about  the  same  colour.  Whenever  the  lambs 
ran  off  the  path  Bibiche  would  say  "Bark,  Cas- 
tille, bark."  She  said  it  very  quickly,  almost 
in  one  word,  and  even  when  Castille  did  not 
bark  the  lambs  got  back  into  line  again,  the 
old  woman's  voice  was  so  like  that  of  her  dog. 
When  harvesting  began  it  seemed  to  me  as 
though  I  were  taking  part  in  something  full 
of  mystery.  Men  <went  up  to  the  corn  and 
laid  it  on  the  ground  with  regular  sweeping 
strokes,  while  others  picked  it  up  again  in 
sheaves,  which  they  stacked  one  against  the 
other.  The  cries  of  the  harvesters  seemed  to 
come  from  above  sometimes,  and  every  now 
and  then  I  looked  up  quickly,  expecting  to  see 
golden  corn-laden  chariots  fly  past  above  my 
head. 

78 


MARIE-CLAIRE  79 

We  all  had  our  evening  meal  together. 
Everybody  sat  down  where  they  pleased  at  the 
long  table,  and  the  farmer's  wife  filled 
our  plates  to  the  brim.  The  younger  ones 
munched  with  appetite,  while  the  older  ones 
cut  each  mouthful  as  though  it  were  something 
precious.  Everybody  ate  in  silence,  and  the 
brown  bread  looked  whiter  in  their  black 
hands.  At  the  end  of  the  meal  the  elder  ones 
talked  about  harvests  with  the  farmer,  while 
the  younger  ones  chatted  and  laughed  with 
Martine,  the  shepherdess.  She  answered 
everybody's  jokes,  and  laughed  heartily  at 
them;  but  if  one  of  the  men  stretched  out  a 
hand  towards  her  she  skipped  out  of  the  way, 
and  never  let  him  get  hold  of  her.  Nobody 
paid  any  attention  to  me.  I  sat  on  a  pile  of 
logs  a  little  way  distant  from  the  rest  of  them, 
and  looked  at  all  their  faces.  Master  Silvain 
had  big  brown  eyes  which  looked  at  each  one 
in  turn,  and  rested  quietly  on  them  as  he 
looked.  He  never  raised  his  voice,  and  leaned 
his  open  hands  on  the  table  when  he  spoke. 
His  wife's  voice  was  serious  and  preoccupied. 
She  always  looked  as  though  she  were  ex- 
pecting some  misfortune  to  happen  and  she 
scarcely  smiled  at  all,  even  when  all  the  others 
were  roaring  with  laughter. 


80  MARIE-CLAIRE 

Old  Bibiche  always  thought  that  I  was  fall- 
ing asleep.  She  would  come  and  pull  my 
sleeve,  and  take  me  off  to  bed.  Her  bed  was 
next  to  mine.  She  mumbled  her  prayers 
while  she  was  undressing,  and  always  blew 
the  lamp  out  without  waiting  to  see  whether 
I  was  ready. 


DIRECTLY  after  the  harvest,  Bibiche 
let  me  go  to  the  fields  alone  with  her 
dog.  Old  Castille  didn't  care  for  my 
company.  She  used  to  leave  me  whenever 
she  could  and  go  back  to  the  farm  to  Bibiche. 
I  had  a  lot  of  trouble  in  keeping  my  lambs  to- 
gether. They  ran  every  way  at  once.  I  com- 
pared myself  with  Sister  Marie-Aimee,  who 
always  said  that  her  little  flock  was  hard  to 
manage.  And  yet  she  used  to  get  us  together 
at  one  stroke  of  the  bell  and  she  could  always 
make  us  perfectly  quiet  by  raising  her  voice  a 
little.  But  I  might  raise  my  voice  or  crack 
my  whip  as  much  as  I  liked,  the  lambs  did  not 
understand  me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  run  about 
all  round  the  flock  as  though  I  were  a  sheep 
dog.  One  evening  two  lambs  were  missing. 
I  always  stood  in  the  doorway  every  evening 
to  let  them  in  one  by  one  so  that  I  could  count 
them  easily.  I  went  into  the  pen  and  tried  to 
count  them  again.  It  was  not  so  easy  and  I 
had  to  give  it  up  at  last,  for  every  time  I 
counted  them  again  I  made  their  number  more 
than  there  really  were.  At  last  I  made  up  my 

81 


82  MARIE-CLAIRE 

mind  that  I  must  have  counted  them  wrong 
the  first  time,  and  I  did  not  say  anything  to 
anybody. 

Next  morning  when  I  let  them  out  I  counted 
them  once  more.  There  really  were  two  miss- 
ing. I  felt  very  uneasy.  All  day  long  I 
hunted  about  the  fields  for  them,  and  in  the 
evening,  when  I  was  quite  certain  that  they 
were  missing,  I  told  the  farmer's  wife.  We 
searched  high  and  low  for  those  lambs  for 
several  days,  but  we  could  not  find  them.  The 
farmer  first,  and  then  his  wife  took  me  apart, 
and  tried  to  make  me  confess  that  men  had 
come  and  taken  the  lambs  away.  They  prom- 
ised me  that  I  should  not  be  scolded  if  I 
would  tell  the  truth.  It  was  no  good  my  say- 
ing that  I  really  did  not  know  what  had  be- 
come of  them,  I  could  see  that  they  did  not 
believe  me. 

After  this  I  was  frightened  when  I  went 
into  the  fields  because  I  knew  now  that  there 
were  men  who  hid  themselves  and  came  and 
stole  the  sheep.  I  was  always  thinking  that 
I  saw  someone  moving  about  behind  the 
bushes.  I  very  soon  learned  to  count  my 
lambs  by  glancing  at  them,  and  whether  they 
were  all  together  or  scattered  about  I  knew  in 
a  minute  whether  all  of  them  were  there. 


AUTUMN  came  and  I  began  to  feel 
unhappy.  I  missed  the  kindness  of 
Sister  Marie-Aimee.  I  longed  so  to 
see  her  that  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes  and  believe 
that  she  was  coming  up  the  path.  When  I 
did  this  I  could  really  hear  her  steps  and  the 
rustling  of  her  dress  on  the  grass.  When  I 
felt  her  quite  close  to  me  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  she  disappeared  at  once.  For  a  long  time 
I  had  the  idea  of  writing  to  her,  but  I  did  not 
dare  to  ask  for  pen  and  paper.  The  farmer's 
wife  did  not  know  how  to  write,  and  nobody 
at  the  farm  ever  got  any  letters.  I  plucked 
up  courage  one  day  and  asked  Master  Silvain 
if  he  would  take  me  to  town  with  him  that 
morning.  He  didn't  answer  at  once.  His 
big  quiet  eyes  rested  on  me  for  a  time,  and 
then  he  said  that  a  shepherdess  ought  never  to 
leave  her  flock.  He  said  that  he  didn't  mind 
taking  me  to  mass  in  the  village  now  and  then, 
but  that  I  must  not  expect  him  to  take  me  to 
the  town.  This  answer  quite  stunned  me. 
It  was  as  though  I  had  learned  of  a  great  mis- 
fortune. And  every  time  I  thought  of  it  I 

83 


84  MARIE-CLAIRE 

could  see  Sister  Marie-Aimee.  She  was  like 
some  precious  thing  which  the  farmer  had 
smashed  all  to  pieces  by  accident. 

On  the  following  Saturday  Master  Silvain 
and  his  wife  left  in  the  morning  as  usual,  but 
instead  of  remaining  in  town  until  evening 
they  came  back  in  the  afternoon  with  a  dealer 
who  wanted  to  buy  some  of  the  lambs.  I  had 
never  thought  that  one  could  go  to  the  town 
and  come  back  again  in  so  short  a  time.  The 
idea  occurred  to  me  that  one  day  I  would  leave 
my  lambs  in  the  meadow  and  would  run  into 
the  town  for  one  kiss  from  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee.  I  soon  found  that  that  would  not  be 
possible,  and  I  decided  to  go  off  in  the  night. 
I  hoped  that  I  should  not  take  much  longer 
than  the  farmer's  horse  did,  and  that  by  leav- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  night  I  could  be  back 
in  time  to  take  the  lambs  to  pasture  in  the 
morning. 

That  evening  I  went  to  bed  in  my  clothes, 
and  when  the  big  clock  sounded  twelve  I 
slipped  out  on  tip-toe  with  my  shoes  in  my 
hand.  I  leaned  against  a  cart  and  laced  them 
up,  and  ran  off  as  fast  as  I  could  into  the  dark. 
I  soon  got  past  the  outbuildings  of  the  farm, 
and  then  I  saw  that  the  night  was  not  very 
dark.  The  wind  was  blowing  very  hard,  and 


MARIE-CLAIRE  85 

big  black  clouds  were  rolling  across  the  sky 
under  the  moon.  It  was  a  long  way  to  the 
high-road,  and  to  get  there  I  had  to  cross  a 
wooden  bridge  which  was  out  of  repair.  The 
rain  of  the  last  few  days  had  swelled  the  little 
river  and  the  water  splashed  up  on  to  the 
bridge  through  the  rotten  planks.  I  began  to 
get  nervous  because  the  water  and  the  wind 
between  them  made  a  noise  that  I  had  never 
heard  before.  But  I  refused  to  be  frightened, 
and  ran  across  the  slippery  bridge  as  quickly 
as  I  dared. 

I  got  to  the  high-road  sooner  than  I  had  ex- 
pected, and  turned  to  the  left  as  I  had  seen 
the  farmer  turn  when  he  went  to  market.  But 
a  little  further  along  the  road  divided  into 
two  and  I  didn't  know  which  road  to  take.  I 
ran  a  little  way  up  one  road  and  then  a  little 
way  up  another.  It  was  the  road  to  the  left 
that  seemed  to  be  the  likely  one.  I  took  it, 
and  walked  fast  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

In  the  distance  I  saw  a  black  mass  which 
covered  the  whole  country.  It  seemed  to  be 
coming  slowly  towards  me,  and  for  a  moment 
I  wanted  to  turn  back  and  run.  A  dog  began 
to  bark  and  that  gave  me  a  little  confidence, 
and  almost  directly  afterwards  I  saw  that  the 
black  mass  in  front  of  me  was  a  wood  through 


86  MARIE-CLAIRE 

which  the  road  passed.  When  I  got  into  it 
the  wind  seemed  to  be  rougher  than  ever.  It 
blew  in  squalls,  and  the  trees  struck  at  one  an- 
other and  rattled  their  branches  and  moaned 
and  stooped  down  to  get  out  of  its  way.  I 
heard  long  whistling  sounds  as  the  branches 
cracked  and  clattered  and  fell. 

Then  I  heard  steps  behind  me  and  felt  a  tap 
on  my  shoulder.  I  turned  round  quickly,  but 
I  saw  nobody.  Yet  I  was  sure  that  somebody 
had  touched  me  with  his  finger,  and  the  steps 
went  on  as  though  some  invisible  person  were 
walking  round  and  round  me.  I  began  to 
run  so  fast  that  I  didn't  know  whether  my  feet 
were  touching  the  ground  or  not. 

The  stones  sprang  out  under  my  shoes  and 
rattled  behind  me  like  a  little  hailstorm.  I 
had  only  one  idea,  and  that  was  to  run  and  run 
until  I  got  out  of  the  forest. 

At  last  I  came  to  a  clearing.  It  was  lit  up 
by  a  pale  moon  and  the  tearing  wind  whirled 
heaps  of  leaves  up  and  threw  them  down 
again,  then  rolled  them  about  and  about,  and 
turned  them  over  in  all  directions. 

I  wanted  to  stop  to  get  my  breath,  but  the 
big  trees  were  swinging  backwards  and  for- 
wards with  a  deafening  noise.  Their  shad- 
ows, which  looked  like  great  black  animals, 


MARIE-CLAIRE  87 

threw  themselves  flat  along  the  road  and  then 
slipped  away  and  hid  behind  the  trees.  Some 
of  these  shadows  had  shapes  which  I  recog- 
nized. But  most  of  them  hovered  and  jumped 
about  in  front  of  me  as  though  they  wanted 
to  prevent  me  from  passing.  Some  of  them 
frightened  me  so  that  I  took  a  little  run,  and 
jumped  over  them.  I  was  dreadfully  afraid 
(that  they  would  catch  at  my  feet. 

The  wind  went  down  a  little,  and  rain  be- 
gan to  fall  in  large  drops.  I  had  got  to  the 
other  side  of  the  clearing,  and  when  I  came  to 
a  little  path  which  disappeared  into  the  wood 
again,  I  seemed  to  see  a  white  wall  at  the  end 
of  it.  I  went  a  little  way  along  the  path,  and 
saw  that  it  was  a  house.  Without  thinking  at 
all  I  knocked  at  the  door.  I  wanted  to  ask 
the  people  to  shelter  me  until  the  wind 
stopped.  I  knocked  a  second  time,  and  heard 
somebody  moving.  I  thought  the  door  was 
going  to  be  opened,  but  a  window  was  opened 
on  the  first  floor.  A  man  in  a  night-cap  called 
out,  "Who's  there?"  I  answered,  "A  little 
girl."  He  seemed  surprised.  "A  little  girl?" 
he  said,  and  asked  me  where  I  came  from, 
where  I  was  going,  and  what  I  wanted.  I  had 
not  expected  all  these  questions,  and  I  said 
that  I  was  coming  from  the  farm,  but  told  a 


88  MARIE-CLAIRE 

lie,  and  said  that  I  was  going  to  see  my  mother 
who  was  ill.  Then  I  asked  him  to  let  me  into 
the  house  until  the  rain  stopped.  He  told  me 
to  wait,  and  I  heard  him  talking  to  somebody 
else.  Then  he  came  back  to  the  window,  and 
asked  me  if  there  was  anybody  with  me.  He 
asked  me  how  old  I  was;  and  when  I  said  I 
was  thirteen,  he  said  I  must  be  a  brave  girl  to 
come  through  the  wood  alone  at  night.  He 
remained  leaning  out  of  the  window  a  mo- 
ment, trying  to  see  my  face,  which  was  look- 
ing up  towards  him.  Then  he  turned  his  head 
to  right  and  left  trying  to  look  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wood,  and  advised  me  to  go  on  a 
little  further.  There  was  a  village  at  the 
other  side  of  the  wood,  he  said,  and  I  should 
find  houses  there  where  I  could  dry  my 
clothes. 

I  went  on  into  the  night.  The  moon  had 
hidden  itself  altogether,  and  a  drizzling  rain 
was  falling.  I  had  to  walk  a  long  time  before 
I  got  to  the  village.  All  the  houses  were  shut 
up,  and  I  could  hardly  see  them  in  the  dark. 
A  blacksmith  was  the  only  person  up.  When 
I  got  to  his  house  I  went  up  the  two  steps, 
meaning  to  rest  there.  He  was  busy  with  a 
great  iron  bar,  which  he  was  heating  in  a  fire 
of  red  coal,  and  when  his  arm  went  up  with 


MARIE-CLAIRE  89 

the  bellows  he  looked  like  a  giant.  Every 
time  the  bellows  came  down  the  coal  flew  up 
and  crackled.  That  made  a  glimmering  light 
which  lit  up  the  walls,  on  which  scythes,  saws, 
and  all  kinds  of  knives  were  hanging.  The 
man's  forehead  was  wrinkled,  and  he  was 
staring  at  the  fire.  I  dared  not  talk  to  him, 
and  I  went  away  without  making  any  noise. 

When  it  became  quite  light  I  saw  that  I 
was  not  very  far  from  the  town.  I  began  to 
recognize  the  places  where  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  used  to  take  us  when  we  went  for  our 
walks.  I  was  walking  very  slowly  now,  and 
dragged  my  feet  after  me  because  they  hurt 
me.  I  was  so  tired  that  it  was  all  I  could  do 
not  to  sit  down  on  one  of  the  heaps  of  stone 
which  were  on  each  side  of  the  road. 

The  sound  of  a  horse  and  cart  rattling  along 
the  road  as  fast  as  they  could  go  made  me  turn 
round,  and  I  remained  standing  quite  still 
with  my  heart  beating  fast.  I  had  recognized 
the  bay  mare  and  the  farmer's  black  beard. 
He  stopped  the  mare  quite  close  to  me,  leaned 
out  of  the  cart,  and  lifted  me  up  into  it  by  the 
belt  of  the  dress.  He  sat  me  down  next  to 
him  on  the  seat,  turned  the  horse  round  and 
drove  off  again  at  full  speed.  When  we  got 
to  the  wood  Master  Silvain  made  the  horse 


90  MARIE-CLAIRE 

slow  down.  He  turned  to  me,  looked  at  me, 
and  said,  "It  is  lucky  for  you  that  I  caught 
you  up.  Otherwise  you  would  have  been 
brought  back  to  the  farm  between  two  gen- 
darmes." As  I  didn't  answer,  he  said  again, 
"Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  there  are  gen- 
darmes who  bring  little  girls  back,  when  they 
run  away."  I  said,  "I  want  to  go  and  see 
Sister  Marie-Aimee."  "Are  you  unhappy 
with  us?"  he  asked.  I  said  again,  "I  want 
to  go  and  see  Sister  Marie-Aimee."  He 
looked  as  though  he  didn't  understand,  and 
went  on  asking  me  questions,  going  over  the 
names  of  everybody  on  the  farm,  and  asking 
me  if  they  were  kind  to  me.  I  made  the  same 
answer  every  time.  At  last  he  lost  patience 
with  me,  sat  straight  up,  and  said,  "What  an 
obstinate  child."  I  looked  up  at  him  and 
said  that  I  should  run  away  again  if  he  would 
not  take  me  to  Sister  Marie-Aimee.  I  went 
on  looking  at  him,  waiting  for  an  answer,  and 
I  could  see  quite  well  that  he  didn't  know 
what  to  say.  He  kept  still,  and  thought  for 
several  minutes.  Then  he  put  his  hand  on 
my  knee  and  said,  "Listen  to  me,  child,  and 
try  and  understand  what  I  am  going  to  tell 
you."  And  when  he  had  finished  speaking  I 
understood  that  he  had  promised  to  keep  me 


MARIE-CLAIRE  91 

until  I  was  eighteen  without  ever  letting  me 
go  to  the  town.  I  understood,  too,  that  the 
Mother  Superior  could  do  what  she  liked 
with  me,  and  that  if  I  ran  away  again  she 
would  have  me  locked  up,  because  I  ran 
about  the  woods  during  the  night.  Then  the 
farmer  said  that  he  hoped  I  should  forget  the 
convent  and  that  I  should  grow  fond  of  him, 
and  of  his  wife,  because  they  wished  me  to  be 
happy  with  them.  I  was  very  miserable,  and 
it  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  cry.  "Come," 
said  the  farmer  holding  out  his  hand.  "Let 
us  be  good  friends,  shall  we?"  I  put  my 
hand  into  his,  and  he  held  it  rather  tight. 
I  said  I  should  like  to  be  friends.  He  cracked 
his  whip,  and  we  soon  got  through  the  wood. 
Rain  was  still  falling  in  a  fine  shower  like  a 
fog,  and  the  ploughed  fields  looked  drearier 
than  ever.  In  a  field  by  the  road  a  man  came 
towards  us  waving  his  arms.  I  thought  he 
was  threatening  me  at  first,  but  when  he  was 
quite  close  to  us  I  saw  that  he  was  holding 
something  in  his  left  arm,  and  that  his  right 
arm  was  moving  up  and  down  as  though  he 
were  working  a  scythe.  I  was  so  puzzled  that 
I  looked  at  Master  Silvain.  As  though  he 
were  answering  a  question,  he  said,  "It  is 
Gaboret,  sowing."  A  few  minutes  after- 


92  MARIE-CLAIRE 

wards  we  got  to  the  farm.  The  farmer's  wife 
was  waiting  for  us  in  the  doorway.  When 
she  saw  me  she  opened  her  mouth  wide  as 
though  she  had  been  a  long  time  without 
breathing,  and  her  serious  face  looked  a  little 
less  anxious  for  a  moment.  I  ran  past  her, 
went  into  the  room  to  fetch  my  cloak,  and 
went  straight  out  to  the  pens.  The  sheep 
rushed  out,  tumbling  over  one  another.  They 
ought  to  have  been  in  the  fields  a  long  time 
before. 


ALL  day  long  I  thought  over  what  the 
farmer  had  said  to  me.  I  could  not 
understand  why  the  Mother  Superior 
wanted  to  prevent  me  from  seeing  Sister 
Marie- Aimee.  But  I  understood  that  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  could  do  nothing,  and  I  made 
my  mind  up  to  wait,  thinking  that  a  day  would 
come  when  nobody  could  prevent  me  from 
seeing  her  again.  At  bedtime  the  farmer's 
wife  went  up  with  me  to  put  an  extra  blanket 
on  my  bed,  and  when  she  had  said  "good- 
night," she  told  me  not  to  call  her  "madame" 
any  more.  She  wanted  me  to  call  her  Paul- 
ine. Then  she  went  away  after  telling  me 
that  both  she  and  her  husband  looked  upon  me 
as  a  child  of  the  house,  and  that  she  would  do 
all  she  could  to  make  me  happy  at  the  farm. 
Next  day  Master  Silvain  made  me  sit  next 
to  his  brother  at  table.  He  told  me  with  a 
laugh  that  he  was  not  to  let  me  want  for  any- 
thing, because  he  wanted  me  to  grow.  The 
farmer's  brother  was  called  Eugene.  He 
spoke  very  little,  but  he  always  looked  at  each 
person  who  spoke,  and  his  small  eyes  often 


94  MARIE-CLAIRE 

seemed  to  be  laughing  at  them.  He  was 
thirty  years  old,  but  he  did  not  look  more  than 
twenty.  He  always  had  an  answer  to  any 
question  he  was  asked,  and  I  felt  no  awkward- 
ness at  sitting  next  to  him.  He  squeezed  him- 
self against  the  wall  so  as  to  give  me  more 
room  at  the  table,  and  when  the  farmer  told 
him  to  look  after  me,  all  he  said  was,  "You 
need  not  worry." 

Now,  after  all  the  fields  had  been  ploughed 
Martine  took  her  sheep  a  long  way  off  to  some 
pasture  land  called  the  common.  The  cow- 
herd and  I  took  our  flock  down  the  meadows 
and  into  the  woods  where  there  was  fern.  I 
suffered  from  the  cold  although  I  had  a  big 
woollen  cloak  which  covered  me  down  to  my 
feet.  The  cowherd  often  had  to  light  a  fire. 
He  would  bake  potatoes  and  chestnuts  in  the 
ashes  and  share  them  with  me.  He  taught 
me  how  to  know  from  which  side  the  wind 
was  coming,  so  as  to  make  use  of  the  least 
shelter  against  the  cold.  And  as  we  sat  over 
the  fire  and  tried  to  keep  ourselves  warm  he 
would  sing  me  a  song  about  "Water  and 
Wine."  It  was  a  song  which  had  about 
twenty  verses  in  it.  Water  and  Wine  ac- 
cused one  another  of  ruining  the  human  race, 
and  at  the  same  time  praised  themselves  tre- 


MARIE-CLAIRE  95 

mendously.  As  far  as  I  could  see  Water  was 
right,  but  the  cowherd  said  that  Wine  was  by 
no  means  wrong.  We  used  to  sit  and  talk  to- 
gether for  hours.  He  would  tell  me  of  his 
country,  which  was  a  long  way  off  from 
Sologne.  He  told  me  that  he  had  always 
been  a  cowherd,  and  that  when  he  was  a  child 
a  bull  had  knocked  him  down  and  hurt  him. 
He  had  been  ill  a  long  time  after  that,  and  the 
pains  in  his  limbs  had  made  him  scream. 
Then  the  pains  had  gone  away,  but  he  had  be- 
come all  twisted  up  as  I  saw  him  now.  He 
remembered  the  names  of  all  the  farms  where 
he  had  been  cowherd.  Some  of  the  farmers 
were  kind,  and  some  were  not,  but  he  had 
never  come  across  such  kind  masters  as  at 
Villevieille.  He  said,  too,  that  Master  Sil- 
vain's  cows  were  not  a  bit  like  those  of  his 
own  country,  which  were  small,  and  had  horns 
like  pointed  spindles.  The  Villevieille  cows 
were  big,  strong  animals  with  rough  crumpled 
horns.  He  was  very  fond  of  them  and  used 
to  call  each  one  by  name  when  he  talked  to 
them.  The  one  he  liked  best  was  a  beautiful 
white  cow  which  Master  Silvain  had  bought 
in  the  spring.  She  was  always  lifting  her 
head  and  looking  into  the  distance,  and  then 
all  of  a  sudden  she  would  start  off  at  a  run. 


96  MARIE-CLAIRE 

The  cowherd  used  to  call  out,  "Stop  where  you 
are,  Blanche!  Stop!"  She  usually  obeyed 
him,  but  sometimes  he  had  to  send  the  dog 
after  her.  Sometimes,  too,  she  used  to  try  and 
run  even  when  the  dog  stopped  her,  and  would 
only  come  back  to  the  herd  when  he  bit  her 
muzzle.  The  cowherd  used  to  pity  her  be- 
cause, he  said,  he  couldn't  say  what  or  whom 
she  was  regretting. 


IN  the  month  of  December  the  cows  re- 
mained in  the  stables.  I  thought  that  we 
should  keep  the  sheep  in,  too,  but  the 
farmer's  brother  explained  to  me  that  Sologne 
was  a  very  poor  country,  and  that  the  farmers 
could  not  make  enough  forage  to  feed  the 
sheep  as  well.  So  now  I  used  to  go  off  all 
by  myself  with  the  sheep  down  the  meadows 
and  into  the  woods.  All  the  birds  had  gone. 
Mist  spread  over  the  ploughed  fields  and  the 
woods  were  full  of  silence. 

There  were  days  when  I  felt  so  lonely  that 
I  began  to  believe  that  the  earth  had  fallen  all 
to  pieces  round  me,  and  when  a  crow  cawed 
as  it  flew  past  in  the  grey  sky  its  great  hoarse 
voice  seemed  to  me  to  be  singing  of  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  world.  Even  the  sheep  were 
quiet.  A  dealer  had  taken  away  all  the  lambs, 
and  the  little  ewes  did  not  know  how  to  play 
alone.  They  went  along  pressing  up  close  to 
each  other,  and  even  when  they  were  not  crop- 
ping what  grass  there  was,  their  heads  were 
bent.  Some  of  them  made  me  think  of  little 
girls  I  had  known.  I  used  to  pass  them  and 

97 


98  MARIE-CLAIRE 

stroke  them,  and  make  them  raise  their  heads, 
but  their  eyes  looked  down  again  at  once,  and 
the  pupils  were  like  glass  without  a  gleam 
in  it. 

One  day  I  was  surprised  by  such  a  thick  fog 
that  I  could  not  see  my  way.  All  of  a  sudden 
I  found  myself  near  a  big  wood  which  I  didn't 
know.  The  tops  of  the  trees  were  lost  in  the 
fog,  and  the  ferns  looked  as  though  they  were 
all  wrapped  in  wool.  White  shadows  came 
down  from  the  trees  and  glided  with  long 
transparent  trains  over  the  dead  leaves.  I 
pushed  the  sheep  towards  the  meadow  which 
was  quite  near,  but  they  clustered  together  and 
refused  to  go  on.  I  went  in  front  of  them  to 
see  what  was  preventing  them  from  going  any 
further,  and  I  recognized  the  little  river  which 
flowed  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill. 

I  could  scarcely  see  the  water.  It  seemed 
to  be  sleeping  under  a  thick  white  woollen 
blanket.  I  stood  looking  at  it  for  one  long 
minute,  then  I  got  my  sheep  together  and  took 
them  back  along  the  road.  While  I  was  trying 
to  find  out  where  the  farm  was,  the  sheep  ran 
round  the  wood  and  got  into  a  lane  with  a 
hedge  on  each  side  of  it.  The  fog  was  getting 
thicker  than  ever,  and  I  thought  I  was  walking 
between  two  high  walls.  I  followed  the  sheep 


MARIE-CLAIRE  09 

without  knowing  where  they  were  taking  me. 
Suddenly  they  left  the  lane  and  turned  to  the 
right;  but  I  stopped  them.  I  saw  a  church 
just  in  front  of  us.  The  doors  were  wide  open, 
and  on  either  side  I  could  see  two  red  lamps 
which  lit  up  a  grey  vaulted  roof.  There  were 
two  straight  lines  of  huge  pillars,  and  at  the 
other  end  one  could  just  see  the  windows  with 
their  small  panes  on  which  a  light  was  shin- 
ing. It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  the  sheep 
from  going  into  the  church,  and  as  I  was  push- 
ing them  away  I  noticed  that  they  were 
covered  with  little  white  beads.  They  shook 
themselves  every  moment  and  the  beads  made 
a  tinkling  sound.  I  got  very  anxious,  for  I 
knew  that  Master  Silvain  must  be  waiting  for 
us,  and  wondering  where  we  were.  I  felt 
sure  that  if  I  were  to  go  back  the  way  I  had 
come  I  must  soon  find  the  farm,  so  making 
as  little  noise  as  I  could  I  pushed  the  sheep 
back  into  the  lane,  which  led  to  the  church. 
As  I  was  going  into  the  lane  a  man's  voice 
sounded  right  over  my  head.  The  voice  said, 
"Let  the  poor  brutes  go  home."  As  he  spoke 
the  man  turned  the  sheep  back  towards  the 
church  again,  and  I  recognized  Eugene,  the 
farmer's  brother.  He  passed  his  hand  over 
the  back  of  one  of  the  sheep  and  said,  "How 


100  MARIE-CLAIRE 

pretty  they  are  with  their  little  frost  balls.  But 
it  is  not  good  for  them." 

I  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  meeting  him 
there.  I  showed  him  the  church  and  asked 
him  what  it  was.  "It  was  for  you,"  he  said. 
"I  was  afraid  that  you  would  not  find  the 
avenue  of  chestnut  trees,  and  I  hung  up  a  lan- 
tern on  each  side."  I  felt  all  confused.  It  was 
only  a  few  moments  afterwards  that  I  under- 
stood that  the  great  pillars,  blackened  and 
worn  by  centuries,  were  simply  the  trunks  of 
the  chestnut  trees,  and  then  I  recognized  the 
small-paned  windows  of  the  farm-house 
kitchen,  which  the  fire  lit  up  from  inside. 
Eugene  counted  the  sheep  himself.  He 
helped  me  to  make  them  a  warm  litter  of 
straw,  and  as  we  left  the  pen  together  he  asked 
me  if  I  really  didn't  know  what  had  become  of 
the  two  lambs  that  had  been  lost.  I  felt  dread- 
fully ashamed  at  the  thought  that  he  could  be- 
lieve that  I  had  told  a  lie,  and  I  could  not 
help  crying,  and  told  him  that  they  had  dis- 
appeared without  my  having  seen  how  or 
where  they  went.  Then  he  told  me  that  he 
had  found  them  drowned  in  a  water-hole.  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  scold  me  for  not  hav- 
ing watched  them  better,  but  he  said  gently, 
"Go  and  get  warm ;  you  have  got  all  the  rime 


MARIE-CLAIRE  101 

of  Sologne  in  your  hair."  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  would  go  and  see  the  water-hole 
instead.  But  during  the  night  snow  fell  so 
quickly  that  we  couldn't  go  out  to  the  fields 
next  day. 

I  helped  old  Bibiche  to  mend  the  household 
linen;  Martine  sat  down  to  her  spinning 
wheel,  and  I  sang  to  them  while  we  sewed 
and  Martine  span. 


^C  Tf  THILE  we  sat  at  work  that  evening  the 
y  \  dogs  never  stopped  barking  furiously. 
Martine  seemd  anxious.  She  lis- 
tened to  the  dogs,  and  then  turning  to  the 
farmer  she  said,  "I  am  afraid  this  weather  will 
bring  the  wolves  down."  The  farmer  got  up 
to  go  out  and  talk  to  the  dogs,  and  took  his 
lantern  to  make  a  round  of  the  outhouses. 
During  the  week  that  the  snow  lasted  hun- 
dreds of  crows  came  to  the  farm.  They  were 
so  hungry  that  nothing  frightened  them.  They 
went  into  the  cowhouse  and  the  pens  and  into 
the  granary,  and  they  made  very  free  with  the 
corn  ricks.  The  farmer  killed  a  lot  of  them. 
We  cooked  some  of  them  with  bacon  and  cab- 
bage. Everybody  thought  them  very  good, 
but  the  dogs  wouldn't  eat  them. 


THE  first  day  we  let  the  sheep  and  cows 
out,  the  pine  trees  were  still  heavy  with 
snow.  The  hill  was  all  white  too.  It 
seemed  to  have  come  closer  to  the  farm.  All 
this  white  dazzled  me.  I  could  not  find  things 
in  their  places,  and  every  moment  I  was  afraid 
that  I  should  not  see  the  blue  smoke  curling 
up  over  the  farm  roofs  any  longer.  The  sheep 
could  not  find  anything  to  eat,  and  ran  about 
searching.  I  did  not  let  them  scatter  too 
much.  They  looked  like  moving  snow,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  watch  them  closely  so  as  not 
to  lose  sight  of  them.  I  managed  to  get  them 
together  in  a  meadow  which  skirted  a  big 
wood.  The  whole  forest  was  busy  getting  rid 
of  the  snow  which  weighed  it  down.  The  big 
branches  threw  the  snow  off  at  one  shake, 
while  the  others  which  were  not  so  strong, 
stooped  and  bent  themselves  to  make  it  slip 
down.  I  had  never  been  into  this  forest.  I 
only  knew  that  it  was  a  very  big  one,  and  that 
Martine  sometimes  took  her  sheep  there.  The 
pine  trees  were  very  tall,  and  the  ferns  grew 
very  high. 

103 


104  MARIE-CLAIRE 

I  had  been  watching  a  big  clump  of  ferns 
for  a  long  time.  I  thought  I  had  seen  it  move, 
and  I  heard  a  sound  come  out  of  it  as  though 
a  bit  of  stick  had  broken  under  a  footstep.  I 
felt  frightened.  I  thought  there  was  some- 
body there.  Then  I  heard  the  same  sound 
again  much  nearer,  but  without  seeing  any- 
thing move.  I  tried  to  reassure  myself  by  say- 
ing to  myself  that  it  was  a  hare,  or  some  other 
little  animal  which  was  looking  for  food ;  but 
in  spite  of  all  I  could  try  to  think,  I  felt  there 
was  somebody  there.  I  felt  so  nervous  that 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  nearer  the  farm. 
I  had  taken  two  steps  towards  my  sheep  when 
they  huddled  together  and  moved  away  from 
the  wood.  I  was  looking  about  to  see  what 
had  frightened  them,  when  quite  close  to  me, 
in  the  very  middle  of  the  flock,  I  saw  a  yellow 
dog  carrying  off  one  of  the  sheep  in  his  mouth. 
My  first  idea  was  that  Castille  had  gone  mad ; 
but  at  the  same  moment  Castille  tumbled  up 
against  my  dress  and  howled  plaintively. 
Then  I  guessed  that  it  was  a  wolf.  It  was 
carrying  off  a  sheep  which  it  held  by  the  mid- 
dle of  its  body.  It  climbed  up  a  hillock  with- 
out any  difficulty,  and  as  it  jumped  the  broad 
ditch  which  separated  the  field  from  the  for- 
est its  hind-legs  made  me  think  of  wings.  At 


MARIE-CLAIRE  105 

that  moment  I  should  not  have  thought  it  at 
all  extraordinary  if  it  had  flown  away  over 
the  trees.  I  stood  there  for  a  few  moments, 
without  knowing  whether  I  was  frightened. 
Then  I  felt  that  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away 
from  the  ditch.  My  eyelids  had  become  so 
stiff  that  I  thought  I  should  never  be  able  to 
close  them  again.  I  wanted  to  call  out,  so 
that  they  should  hear  me  at  the  farm,  but  I 
could  not  get  my  voice  out  of  my  throat.  I 
wanted  to  run,  but  my  legs  were  trembling  so 
that  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on  the  wet 
grass.  Castille  went  on  howling  as  though 
she  were  in  pain,  and  the  sheep  remained 
huddled  together. 

When  I  got  them  back  to  the  farm  at  last,  I 
ran  to  look  for  Master  Silvain.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  me  he  guessed  what  had  happened.  He 
called  his  brother  and  took  down  their  two 
guns,  and  I  tried  to  show  him  which  way  the 
wolf  had  gone.  They  both  came  back  at 
nightfall  without  having  found  him.  We 
talked  of  nothing  else  all  the  evening.  Eu- 
gene wanted  to  know  what  the  wolf  looked 
like;  and  old  Bibiche  got  angry  when  I  said 
that  he  had  a  long  yellow  coat  like  Castille, 
but  that  he  was  much  handsomer  than  she  was. 


A  FEW  days  afterwards  it  was  Martinets 
turn.  She  had  just  taken  her  sheep 
out,  and  she  had  hardly  reached  the 
end  of  the  avenue  of  chestnut  trees  when  we 
heard  her  shouting.  Everybody  rushed  out 
of  the  house.  I  got  to  Martine  first.  She 
was  stooping  down  and  pulling  as  hard  as  she 
could  at  a  sheep  which  a  wolf  had  just  killed, 
and  was  trying  to  carry  off.  The  wolf  had  the 
sheep  by  the  throat,  and  was  pulling  as  hard 
as  Martine  was.  Martinets  dogs  bit  the  wolf's 
legs,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  feel  it,  and  when 
Master  Silvain  fired  full  at  him  he  rolled  over 
with  a  piece  of  the  sheep's  throat  between  his 
teeth.  Martine's  eyes  were  staring  and  her 
mouth  had  become  quite  white.  Her  cap  had 
slipped  off  her  head,  and  the  parting  which 
divided  her  hair  into  two  made  me  think  of  a 
broad  path  on  which  one  could  walk  without 
any  danger.  The  usual  strong  expression  of 
her  face  had  changed  into  a  sad  little  grimace, 
and  her  hands  kept  opening  and  closing,  the 
two  of  them  keeping  time.  She  had  been  lean- 
ing against  the  chestnut  tree,  and  she  went  up 

106 


MARIE-CLAIRE  107 

to  Eugene,  who  was  looking  at  the  wolf.  She 
stood  by  him  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  dead 
wolf  too,  and  said  aloud:  "Poor  brute!  How 
hungry  he  must  have  been!"  The  farmer  put 
the  wolf  and  the  sheep  on  the  same  wheelbar- 
row, and  wheeled  them  back  to  the  farm.  The 
dogs  followed,  sniffing  at  the  barrow,  and 
looking  frightened. 

For  several  days  the  farmer  and  his  brother 
went  out  shooting  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Whenever  Eugene  came  anywhere  near  me  he 
would  stop  and  say  a  kind  word.  He  told  me 
that  the  noise  they  made  with  their  guns  drove 
the  wolves  away,  and  that  one  very  rarely  saw 
any  in  that  part  of  the  country.  But  although 
he  said  that  there  was  little  or  no  danger  I 
didn't  care  to  go  back  to  the  big  forest.  I  pre- 
ferred to  go  up  on  to  the  hill  which  was 
covered  only  with  brooms  and  ferns. 


AT  the  beginning  of  the  spring  the  farm- 
er's wife  taught  me  how  to  milk  the 
cows  and  look  after  the  pigs.  She 
said  she  wanted  to  make  a  good  farmer  of  me. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  Mother  Su- 
perior and  the  disdainful  tone  in  which  she 
had  said  to  me,  "You  will  milk  the  cows  and 
look  after  the  pigs."  When  she  said  that  she 
said  it  as  though  she  were  giving  me  a  pun- 
ishment, and  here  I  was  delighted  at  having 
them  to  look  after.  I  used  to  lean  my  fore- 
head against  a  cow's  flank  to  get  a  better  pur- 
chase, and  I  very  soon  filled  my  pail.  At  the 
top  of  the  milk  a  foam  used  to  form  which 
caught  all  kinds  of  changing  colours,  and 
when  the  sun  passed  over  it  it  become  so  mar- 
vellously beautiful  that  I  was  never  tired  of 
looking  at  it. 

Looking  after  the  pigs  never  disgusted  me. 
Their  food  was  boiled  potatoes  and  curdled 
milk.  I  used  to  dip  my  hands  into  the  bucket 
to  mix  it  all  up,  and  I  loved  making  them  wait 
for  their  food  a  few  minutes.  Their  eager 
cries  and  the  way  they  wiggled  their  snouts 
about  always  amused  me. 

108 


WHEN  May  came  Master  Silvain 
added  a  she-goat  to  my  flock.  He 
had  bought  it  to  help  Pauline  to  feed 
the  little  baby  she  had  got  after  they  had  been 
married  ten  years.  This  goat  was  more  diffi- 
cult to  take  care  of  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
flock.  It  was  always  her  fault  when  my  flock 
got  into  the  standing  oats,  which  were  pretty 
high.  The  farmer  saw  what  had  happened 
and  scolded  me.  He  said  that  I  must  have 
been  asleep  in  a  corner  while  my  sheep  were 
trampling  his  oats  down.  Every  day  I  had  to 
pass  near  a  wood  of  young  pine  trees.  The 
goat  used  to  get  there  in  three  jumps,  and  it 
was  while  I  was  looking  for  her  that  my  lambs 
got  into  the  oats. 

The  first  time  I  waited  ever  so  long  for 
her  to  come  back  by  herself.  I  made  my 
voice  as  soft  as  I  could  and  called  to  her.  At 
last  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  and  fetch  her, 
but  the  young  pines  were  so  close  together 
that  I  didn't  know  how  to  get  after  her.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  could  not  go  away  without 
knowing  what  had  happened  to  the  goat.  I 

109 


110  MARIE-CLAIRE 

thought  I  remembered  the  place  where  she 
had  disappeared,  and  I  went  in  there,  putting 
my  hands  in  front  of  my  face  to  keep  the 
thorns  off.  I  saw  her  almost  at  once  through 
my  fingers.  She  was  quite  near  me.  I 
stretched  my  hands  out  to  get  hold  of  one  of 
her  horns,  but  she  backed  through  the 
branches,  which  flew  back  and  struck  me  in 
the  face.  At  last,  however,  I  got  hold  of  her 
and  brought  her  back  to  the  flock.  She  began 
again  next  day,  and  every  day  she  did  the 
same  thing.  I  got  my  sheep  as  far  away  as  I 
could  from  the  oats,  and  rushed  after  her. 
She  was  a  white  goat,  and  when  she  had  first 
come  I  thought  she  was  like  Madeleine.  She 
had  the  same  kind  of  eyes,  set  far  away  from 
each  other.  When  I  forced  her  to  come  out 
of  the  pine  trees,  she  looked  at  me  for  a  long 
time  without  moving  her  eyes,  and  I  thought 
that  Madeleine  must  have  been  turned  into  a 
goat.  Sometimes  I  told  her  not  to  do  it  again, 
and  I  was  quite  sure  that  she  understood  me 
when  I  told  her  how  unkind  she  was.  As  I 
was  struggling  out  of  the  pine  wood  my  hair 
fell  all  about  me,  and  I  shook  my  head  to 
throw  it  forward.  The  goat  sprang  to  one 
side  bleating  with  fear.  She  lowered  her 
horns  and  came  at  me,  but  I  lowered  my  head 


MARIE-CLAIRE  111 

and  shook  my  hair  at  her.  My  hair  was  long 
and  dragged  along  the  ground.  She  rushed 
off,  leaping  this  way  and  that.  Every  time 
she  went  into  the  pine  wood  I  took  my  re- 
venge on  her  by  frightening  her  with  my  hair. 
Master  Silvain  surprised  us  one  morning  when 
I  was  butting  at  her.  He  laughed  and  laughed 
till  I  didn't  know  which  way  to  look.  I  tried 
to  throw  my  hair  back  quickly.  The  she-goat 
came  close  up  to  me.  She  looked  at  me, 
stretching  her  neck  and  wriggling  her  back 
about  in  the  funniest  way.  The  farmer  could 
not  stop  laughing.  He  bent  almost  double, 
holding  his  sides  and  simply  roared  with 
laughter.  All  I  could  see  of  him  were  his 
eyebrows,  his  beard,  and  his  big  hat.  His 
shouts  of  laughter  made  me  want  to  cry. 
When  he  had  stopped  laughing  he  asked  me 
all  about  it.  I  told  him  how  wicked  the  goat 
had  been,  and  he  shook  his  finger  at  her  and 
laughed  again.  Martine  took  her  out  next 
day;  but  the  day  after  she  said  that  she  would 
rather  leave  the  farm  than  take  out  that  she- 
goat  again.  It  was  possessed  of  the  devil,  she 
said. 

Old  Bibiche  used  to  say  that  goats  ought  to 
be  beaten,  but  I  remembered  the  only  time  I 
had  beaten  her.  Her  ribs  had  made  such  a 


112  MARIE-CLAIRE 

strange  hollow  sound  that  I  never  dared  touch 
her  again.  She  was  left  free  to  run  about  the 
farm,  and  one  day  she  disappeared.  We  never 
found  out  what  had  become  of  her. 

The  feast  of  St.  John  was  drawing  near, 
and  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  my  arrival 
on  the  farm  Eugene  said  that  I  must  be  taken 
to  the  village.  In  honour  of  this  feast  day 
the  farmer's  wife  gave  me  a  yellow  dress 
which  she  used  to  wear  when  she  was  a  girl. 
The  village  was  called  Sainte  Montagne.  It 
only  had  one  street,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a 
church.  Martine  took  me  into  mass,  which 
had  already  begun.  She  pushed  me  on  to  a 
bench  and  she  sat  down  on  the  one  in  front 
of  me.  There  were  two  women  behind  me 
who  never  stopped  talking  about  yesterday's 
market,  and  the  men  near  the  door  talked  out 
loud  without  seeming  to  mind.  They  only 
stopped  talking  when  the  priest  mounted  the 
pulpit.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  preach, 
but  he  only  gave  out  notices  of  the  weddings. 
Every  time  he  mentioned  a  name  the  women 
leaned  to  right  and  left  and  smiled.  I  never 
even  thought  of  praying.  I  looked  at  Mar- 
tine,  who  was  on  her  knees.  Her  dark  curls 
had  got  out  from  under  her  embroidered  cap. 
Her  shoulders  were  broad,  and  her  white 


MARIE-CLAIRE  113 

bodice  was  fastened  at  the  waist  with  a  black 
ribbon.  The  whole  of  her  made  one  think  of 
something  fresh  and  new,  and  yet  the  Mother 
Superior  had  told  me  that  shepherdesses  were 
dirty.  I  thought  of  Martine  and  how  smart 
she  always  looked  in  her  short  striped  petti- 
coat, her  stockings,  which  were  always  tightly 
drawn,  and  her  wooden  shoes  covered  with 
leather,  which  she  blacked  like  boots.  She 
was  always  very  careful  of  her  flock,  and  the 
farmer's  wife  used  to  say  that  she  knew  every 
one  of  her  sheep.  When  we  came  out  of  mass 
she  left  me  and  ran  up  to  an  old  woman,  whom 
she  kissed  tenderly.  Then  I  lost  sight  of  her 
and  remained  all  by  myself,  not  knowing 
where  to  go.  A  little  way  off  I  saw  the  inn 
of  the  "White  Horse."  There  was  a  noise 
of  voices  there  and  I  could  hear  dishes  and 
plates  rattling.  People  went  in  in  crowds,  and 
presently  there  was  nobody  left  outside.  I 
was  going  back  into  the  church  to  wait  for 
Martine  to  come  and  fetch  me  when  I  saw 
Eugene.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said, 
laughing  as  he  spoke,  "If  your  dress  had  not 
been  as  yellow  as  it  is  I  should  certainly  have 
forgotten  you."  He  looked  at  me  as  though 
he  were  making  fun  of  me  and  as  though  he 
were  amused  at  something.  He  took  me  to 


114  MARIE-CLAIRE 

the  schoolmaster  and  asked  him  to  give  me 
luncheon,  and  to  take  me  for  a  walk  with  the 
children.  The  schoolmaster  was  dressed  like 
the  gentlemen  of  the  town.  Eugene  wore  a 
blue  blouse,  and  I  was  very  much  surprised  to 
see  them  so  friendly  together.  While  we  were 
waiting  for  lunch  the  schoolmaster  lent  me  a 
book  of  fairy  tales,  and  when  the  time  came 
for  the  walk  I  would  much  rather  have  been 
left  alone  to  finish  the  book. 

On  the  village  green  the  boys  and  girls  were 
dancing  in  the  sunshine  and  the  dust.  I 
thought  that  they  danced  too  roughly,  and 
that  they  were  too  noisy. 

I  felt  very  sad,  and  when  the  cart  drove  us 
back  to  the  farm  at  nightfall  I  felt  really  glad 
to  be  back  in  the  silence  and  the  sweet  smell  of 
the  meadows  again. 


A  FEW  days  after  that,  on  our  way  home 
from  the  forest,  a  sheep  which  had 
been  grazing  near  the  hedge,  jumped 
right  up  into  the  air.  I  went  to  see  what  was 
the  matter,  and  saw  that  his  nose  was  bleed- 
ing. I  thought  that  he  must  have  pricked 
himself  with  a  big  thorn,  and  after  having 
washed  him  I  didn't  think  anything  more 
about  it.  Next  day  I  was  terrified  to  see  that 
his  head  had  swollen  up  till  it  was  almost  as 
big  as  his  body.  It  frightened  me  so  much 
that  I  screamed.  Martine  came  running  up, 
and  she  began  screaming  too,  and  everybody 
came.  I  explained  what  had  happened  the 
day  before,  and  the  farmer  said  that  the  sheep 
must  have  been  bitten  by  a  viper.  He  would 
have  to  be  cared  for,  and  must  be  left  in  the 
stable  until  the  swelling  had  gone  down.  I 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  look  after  the  poor 
brute,  but  when  I  was  alone  with  it  I  felt 
frightened  to  death.  That  enormous  head, 
which  wobbled  on  the  little  body,  made  me 
half  crazy  with  terror.  The  great  big  eyes, 
the  enormous  mouth  and  the  ears,  which  stood 

115 


116  MARIE-CLAIRE 

straight  up,  made  a  monster  almost  impossible 
to  imagine.  The  poor  beast  always  remained 
in  the  middle  of  the  stable,  as  though  he  were 
afraid  of  bumping  himself  against  the  wall. 
I  tried  to  go  to  him,  telling  myself  that  it  was 
only  a  sheep  after  all,  but  I  could  not.  But 
directly  he  turned  towards  me  I  felt  dread- 
fully sorry  for  him.  Sometimes  I  used  to 
think  that  this  dreadful  face  which  wobbled 
from  right  to  left  was  reproaching  me.  Then 
something  seemed  to  wobble  inside  my  head, 
and  I  felt  as  though  I  were  going  mad.  I  quite 
understood  that  I  was  perfectly  capable  of 
letting  him  die  of  hunger.  I  told  the  cow- 
herd about  it,  and  he  said  that  he  would  look 
after  the  sheep  as  long  as  the  inflammation 
lasted.  He  laughed  at  me  a  little,  and  said 
he  could  not  understand  how  I  could  be  afraid 
of  a  sick  sheep. 

I  was  able  to  do  him  a  good  turn  afterwards, 
and  I  was  very  glad.  When  he  let  the  bull 
out  one  morning,  he  had  slipped  and  fallen  in 
front  of  him.  The  bull  had  sniffed  and  smelt 
at  him.  He  was  a  young  bull,  which  had  been 
brought  up  on  the  farm,  and  was  a  little  bit 
wild.  The  cowherd  was  afraid  of  him,  and 
felt  quite  certain  that  he  would  remember 
that  he  had  seen  him  on  the  ground  in  front  of 
him.  I  should  have  liked  to  make  him  under- 


MARIE-CLAIRE  117 

stand  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of, 
but  I  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  prevent  his 
being  frightened.  I  was  quite  surprised  at 
noticing  all  of  a  sudden  how  old  he  was.  His 
hat  had  dropped  on  to  the  ground,  and  I 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  his  hair  was 
quite  grey.  I  thought  about  him  all  day  long, 
and  next  day,  while  the  cows  were  going  out 
one  by  one,  I  went  into  the  stable.  The  cow- 
herd was  looking  at  the  bull,  who  was  pulling 
at  the  chain.  I  went  up  to  him,  patted  him, 
and  let  him  loose.  The  cowherd  stood  on  one 
side,  and  the  bull  rushed  out  as  if  he  were 
mad.  The  herd  looked  at  him  in  surprise, 
and  limped  after  him.  I  was  not  nearly  so 
frightened  of  the  bull  as  I  had  been  of  the 
sheep  with  the  swollen  face,  and  I  used  to  go 
into  the  stable  every  day,  slipping  in  quietly 
so  as  not  to  be  seen.  But  Eugene  had  seen  me. 
He  took  me  aside  one  morning,  and  looking 
right  into  my  eyes  with  his  little  eyes,  he  said, 
"Why  did  you  let  the  bull  loose?"  I  was 
afraid  the  cowherd  would  be  scolded  if  I  told 
the  truth,  and  tried  to  find  something  to  say 
to  him.  I  began  to  say  that  I  didn't  let  him 
loose.  Then  Eugene  gave  a  little  chuckle, 
and  said,  "You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
tell  lies,  do  you?"  I  told  him  everything,  and 
they  sold  the  bull  next  Saturday. 


I  HAD  often  noticed  how  kind  Eugene  was 
to  everybody.  Whenever  the  farmer  had 
any  difficulties  with  his  men  he  always 
used  to  call  his  brother,  who  would  settle 
everything  with  a  few  words.  Eugene  did  the 
same  work  on  the  farm  as  Master  Silvain  did, 
but  he  always  refused  to  go  to  market.  He 
said  that  he  would  not  know  how  to  sell  even 
a  cheese.  He  walked  slowly,  rocking  himself 
a  little  as  he  walked,  as  though  he  were  trying 
to  keep  time  with  his  oxen.  He  went  to  Sainte 
Montagne  nearly  every  Sunday.  When  the 
weather  was  bad  he  would  remain  in  the  liv- 
ing-room at  the  farm-house  and  read.  I  used 
to  hope  that  he  would  leave  his  book  behind 
him  one  day;  but  he  never  forgot  it,  and  al- 
ways took  it  to  his  room  with  him.  One  of 
my  great  troubles  was  that  I  could  not  find 
anything  to  read  in  the  farm,  and  I  used  to 
pick  up  any  bits  of  printed  paper  that  I  saw 
lying  about.  The  farmer's  wife  had  noticed 
this,  and  said  that  I  should  become  a  miser 
some  day.  One  Sunday,  when  I  had  screwed 
up  my  courage  and  asked  Eugene  for  a  book, 

118 


MARIE-CLAIRE  119 

he  gave  me  a  book  of  songs.  All  through  the 
summer  I  took  it  with  me  to  the  fields.  I 
made  up  tunes  for  the  songs  which  I  liked 
best.  Then  I  got  tired  of  them,  and  when  I 
was  helping  Pauline  to  clean  up  the  farm  for 
All  Saints  Day,  I  found  several  almanacks. 
Pauline  told  me  to  take  them  up  to  the  garret, 
but  I  pretended  to  forget,  and  carried  them 
off  to  read  in  secret,  one  after  the  other.  They 
were  full  of  amusing  stones,  and  the  winter 
went  by  without  my  ever  noticing  the  cold. 

When  I  took  them  up  to  the  garret  at  last, 
I  hunted  about  up  there  to  see  if  I  could  not 
find  any  others.  The  only  thing  I  found  was 
a  little  book  without  any  cover.  The  corners 
of  the  leaves  were  rolled  up  as  if  it  had  been 
carried  about  in  somebody's  pocket  for  a  long 
time.  The  two  first  pages  were  missing,  and 
the  third  page  was  so  dirty  that  I  could  not 
read  the  print.  I  took  it  under  the  skylight, 
to  see  a  little  better,  and  I  saw  that  it  was 
called  "The  Adventures  of  Telemachus."  I 
opened  it  here  and  there,  and  the  few  words 
that  I  read  interested  me  so  much  that  I  put 
it  in  my  pocket  at  once. 

While  I  was  on  my  way  down  from  the  gar- 
ret, it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  Eugene 
might  have,  put  the  book  there,  and  that  he 


120  MARIE-CLAIRE 

might  come  and  look  for  it  at  any  time.  So 
I  put  it  back  on  the  black  rafter  where  I  had 
found  it.  Every  time  I  could  manage  to  go 
to  the  garret  I  looked  to  see  whether  it  was 
still  in  its  place,  and  I  read  it  as  much  and  as 
often  as  ever  I  could. 


JUST  about  that  time  I  had  another  sick 
sheep.  Its  flanks  were  hollow,  as  though 
it  had  not  eaten  for  a  long  while.  I  went 
and  asked  the  farmer's  wife  what  I  ought  to 
do  with  it.  She  was  plucking  a  chicken,  and 
asked  me  whether  the  sheep  was  "drawn."  I 
didn't  answer  at  once.  I  didn't  quite  know 
what  she  meant.  Then  I  thought  that  prob- 
ably whenever  a  sheep  was  ill  it  was  "drawn," 
and  I  said  "Yes."  And  so  as  to  make  it  quite 
clear,  I  added,  "It  is  quite  flat."  Pauline  be- 
gan to  laugh  at  me.  She  called  Eugene,  and 
said,  "Eugene!  One  of  Marie-Claire's  sheep 
is  drawn  and  flat  too."  That  made  Eugene 
laugh.  He  said  I  was  only  a  second-hand 
shepherdess,  and  explained  to  me  that  sheep 
were  "drawn"  when  their  stomachs  were  swol- 
len. 

Two  days  afterwards  Pauline  told  me  that 
she  and  Master  Silvain  saw  that  they  would 
never  make  a  good  shepherdess  of  me,  and  that 
they  were  going  to  give  me  work  to  do  in  the 
house.  Old  Bibiche  was  not  good  for  much, 
and  Pauline  could  not  do  everything  herself, 

121 


122  MARIE-CLAIRE 

because  of  her  baby.  When  they  told  me  this, 
my  first  thought  was  that  I  should  be  able  to 
go  up  to  the  garret  more  often,  and  I  kissed 
Pauline  and  thanked  her. 


SO  I  became  a  farm  servant.  I  had  to  kill 
the  chickens  and  the  rabbits.  I  hated 
doing  it,  and  Pauline  could  never  under- 
stand why.  She  said  I  was  like  Eugene,  who 
ran  away  when  a  pig  was  being  killed.  How- 
ever, I  wanted  to  try  and  kill  a  chicken  so  as 
to  show  that  I  did  my  best.  I  took  it  into  the 
granary.  It  struggled  in  my  hands,  and  the 
straw  all  round  me  got  red.  Then  it  got  quite 
still,  and  I  put  it  down  for  Bibiche  to  come  and 
pluck  it.  But  when  she  came  she  cackled  with 
laughter  because  the  chicken  had  got  on  to  its 
feet  again,  and  was  in  the  middle  of  a  basket 
of  corn.  It  was  eating  greedily,  as  though  it 
wanted  to  get  well  as  quickly  as  possible  after 
the  way  in  which  I  had  hurt  it.  Bibiche  got 
hold  of  it,  and  when  she  had  passed  the  blade 
of  her  knife  across  its  neck  the  straw  was 
much  redder  than  it  had  been  before. 

Instead  of  going  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  I  used  to  go  up  to  the  garret  to  read. 
I  opened  the  book  anywhere,  and  every  time 
I  read  it  over  again  I  found  something  new 
in  it.  I  loved  this  book  of  mine.  For  me  it 

123 


124  MARIE-CLAIRE 

was  like  a  young  prisoner  whom  I  went  to 
visit  secretly.  I  used  to  imagine  that  it  was 
dressed  like  a  page,  and  that  it  waited  for  me 
on  the  black  rafter.  One  evening  I  went  on  a 
lovely  journey  with  it.  I  had  closed  the  book, 
and  was  leaning  on  my  elbows  and  looking  out 
of  the  skylight  in  the  garret.  It  was  almost 
evening,  and  the  pine  trees  looked  less  green. 
The  sun  was  pushing  its  way  into  the  white 
clouds  which  hollowed  themselves  and  then 
swelled  out  again  like  down  and  feathers  do 
when  you  push  something  into  a  sackful  of 
them. 

Without  quite  knowing  how,  I  found  my- 
self, all  of  a  sudden,  flying  over  a  wood  with 
Telemachus.  He  held  me  by  the  hand,  and 
our  heads  touched  the  blue  of  the  sky.  Tele- 
machus said  nothing,  but  I  knew  that  we  were 
going  up  into  the  sun.  Old  Bibiche  called  to 
me  from  below.  I  recognized  her  voice,  al- 
though it  was  so  far  off.  She  must  be  very 
angry,  I  thought,  to  be  calling  so  loud.  I 
didn't  care.  I  saw  nothing  but  the  bright 
flakes  of  white  down  which  surrounded  the 
sun  and  which  were  opening  slowly  to  let  us 
pass  in.  A  tap  on  my  arm  brought  me  back 
with  a  rush  into  the  garret.  Old  Bibiche  was 
pulling  me  away  from  the  skylight,  and  say- 


MARIE-CLAIRE  125 

ing,  "Why  do  you  make  me  shout  like  that? 
I  have  called  you  at  least  twenty  times  to  come 
and  get  your  supper!"  A  little  while  later  I 
missed  the  book  from  the  rafter.  But  it  had 
become  a  friend  which  I  carried  about  in  my 
heart,  and  I  have  always  remembered  it. 


FTTWO  'days  before  Christmas,  Master  Sil- 
vain  got  ready  to  kill  a  pig.  He  sharp- 
ened two  big  knives,  and  after  having 
made  a  litter  of  fresh  straw  in  the  middle  of  the 
yard,  he  sent  for  the  pig,  which  made  such  a 
noise  that  I  was  sure  he  knew  what  was  going 
to  happen.  Master  Silvain  roped  up  his  four 
feet,  and  while  he  fastened  them  to  pegs  which 
he  had  hammered  into  the  ground,  he  said  to 
his  wife,  "Hide  the  knives,  Pauline.  Don't 
let  him  see  them!"  Pauline  gave  me  a  sort  of 
deep  dish,  which  I  was  to  hold  carefully,  so 
as  not  to  lose  a  single  drop  of  the  blood  which 
I  was  to  catch  in  it.  The  farmer  went  to  the 
pig,  which  had  fallen  on  its  side.  He  went 
down  on  one  knee  in  front  of  him,  and,  after 
having  felt  his  neck,  he  reached  his  hand  out 
behind  his  back  to  his  wife ;  she  gave  him  the 
bigger  of  the  two  knives.  He  put  the  point 
on  the  place  he  had  marked  with  his  finger, 
and  pressed  it  slowly  in.  The  pig's  cries  were 
just  like  the  cries  of  a  baby.  A  drop  of  blood 
came  from  the  wound  and  rolled  slowly  down 
in  a  long  red  line.  Then  two  spurts  ran  up 

126 


MARIE-CLAIRE  127 

the  knife  and  fell  on  the  farmer's  hand. 
When  the  blade  was  right  in  up  to  the  handle, 
Master  Silvain  put  his  weight  on  it  for  a  mo- 
ment and  drew  it  out  again  as  slowly  as  he 
had  put  it  in.  When  I  saw  the  blade  come 
out  again  all  striped  with  red,  I  felt  my  mouth 
grow  cold  and  dry.  My  fingers  went  limp, 
and  the  dish  toppled  over  to  one  side.  Mas- 
ter Silvain  saw  it.  He  gave  me  one  look  and 
said  to  his  wife,  "Take  the  dish  away  from 
her."  I  could  not  say  a  word,  but  I  shook 
my  head  to  say  "No."  The  farmer's  look  had 
taken  my  nervousness  away,  and  I  held  the 
dish  quite  steadily  under  the  spurt  of  blood 
which  came  out  from  the  pig's  wound.  When 
the  pig  was  quite  still,  Eugene  came  up.  He 
looked  amazed  at  seeing  me  carefully  catch- 
ing the  last  red  drops  which  were  rolling 
down  one  by  one  like  tears.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  caught  the  blood  ?"  he  asked.  "Yes," 
said  the  farmer;  "that  shows  that  she  is  not  a 
chicken  heart,  like  you."  "It  is  quite  true," 
said  Eugene  to  me,  "I  hate  seeing  animals 
killed."  "Nonsense,"  said  Master  Silvain. 
"Animals  are  made  to  feed  us  just  as  wood  is 
made  to  warm  us."  Eugene  turned  away  a 
little,  as  though  he  were  ashamed  of  his  weak- 
ness. His  shoulders  were  thin,  and  his  neck 


128  MARIE-CLAIRE 

was  as  round  as  Martinets.  Master  Silvain 
used  to  say  that  he  was  the  living  portrait  of 
their  mother. 

I  had  never  seen  Eugene  angry.  He 
hummed  songs  all  day  long.  In  the  evening 
he  used  to  come  back  from  the  fields  sitting 
sideways  on  one  of  the  oxen,  and  he  nearly  al- 
ways sang  the  same  song.  It  was  the  story 
of  a  soldier,  who  went  back  to  the  war  after 
he  had  learned  that  his  sweetheart  had  mar- 
ried another  man.  He  used  to  dwell  on  the 
refrain,  which  finished  like  this — 

And  when  a  bullet  comes  and  takes 

Away  ray  precious   life, 
You'll   know   I   died   because  you  were 

Another  fellow's  wife.* 

Pauline  always  used  to  treat  Eugene  with 
much  respect.  She  could  never  understand 
my  freedom  with  him.  The  first  evening  that 
she  saw  me  sitting  next  to  him  on  the  bench 
outside  the  door  she  made  signs  to  me  to  come 
in.  But  Eugene  called  me  back,  saying, 
"Come  and  listen  to  the  wood  owl."  We 
often  used  to  be  sitting  on  the  bench,  still, 

*  Quand  par  un      tour  de  raaladresse 

Un  boulet  m'emportera 
Aliens  adieu  chere  maitresse 
Je  m'en  vais  dans  les  combats. 


MARIE-CLAIRE  129 

when  everybody  had  gone  to  bed.  The  wood 
owl  came  quite  near  to  an  old  elm  tree  which 
was  by  the  door,  and  we  used  to  think  that  it 
was  saying  "good  night"  to  us.  Then  it  would 
fly  away,  its  great  wings  passing  over  us  in 
silence.  Sometimes  a  voice  would  sing  on  the 
hillside.  I  used  to  tremble  when  I  heard  it. 
The  full  voice  coming  out  of  the  night  re- 
minded me  of  Colette.  Eugene  would  get  up 
to  go  in  when  the  voice  stopped  singing,  but 
I  always  used  to  stop,  hoping  to  hear  it  again. 
Then  he  would  say,  "Come  along  in;  it  is 
all  over." 


AND  now  that  the  winter  was  with  us 
again,  and  we  could  no  longer  sit  on 
the  bench  by  the  door,  there  seemed 
to  be  a  sort  of  secret  understanding  between 
us.  Whenever  he  was  making  fun  of  any- 
body, his  queer  little  eyes  used  to  look  for 
mine,  and  whenever  he  gave  an  opinion  he 
used  to  turn  to  me  as  though  he  expected  me 
to  agprove  or  disapprove.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  had  always  known  him,  and  deep  down 
in  my  thoughts  I  used  to  call  him  my  big 
brother.  He  was  always  asking  Pauline  if 
she  was  pleased  with  me.  Pauline  said  that 
there  was  no  need  to  tell  him  the  same  thing 
twice.  The  only  thing  she  reproached  me 
with  was  that  I  had  no  system  in  my  work. 
She  used  to  say  that  I  was  just  as  likely  to  be- 
gin at  the  end  of  it  as  at  the  beginning.  I  had 
not  forgotten  Sister  Marie- Aimee,  but  I  was 
no  longer  as  sick  with  longing  for  her  as  I 
used  to  be.  And  I  was  happy  on  the  farm. 


ISO 


IN  the  month  of  June  the  men  came,  as  they 
came  every  year,  to  shear  the  sheep.  They 
brought  bad  news  with  them.  All  over 
the  country  the  sheep  were  falling  ill  as  soon 
as  they  had  been  shorn,  and  numbers  of  them 
were  dying.  Master  Silvain  took  his  precau- 
tions, but  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do,  a  hun- 
dred of  the  sheep  fell  sick.  A  doctor  said 
that  by  bathing  them  in  the  river  a  good  many 
of  them  might  be  saved.  So  the  farmer  got 
into  the  water  up  to  his  middle,  and  dipped 
the  sheep  in  one  by  one.  He  was  red  hot,  and 
the  perspiration  rolled  down  his  forehead 
and  fell  in  great  drops  into  the  river.  That 
evening  when  he  went  to  bed  he  was  feverish, 
and  the  third  day  he  died  of  inflammation  of 
the  lungs.  Pauline  could  not  believe  in  her 
misfortune,  and  Eugene  wandered  about  the 
stables  and  the  outhouses  with  frightened  eyes. 


131 


SOON  after  the  farmer's  deatK,  tfie  land- 
lord of  the  farm  came  to  see  us.  He  was 
a  little  dry  stick  of  a  man,  who  never  kept 
still  for  a  minute,  and  if  he  did  stand  still  he 
always  seemed  to  be  dancing  on  one  foot.  His 
face  was  clean-shaven,  and  his  name  was  M. 
Tirande.  He  came  into  the  living-room 
where  I  was  sitting  with  Pauline.  He  walked 
round  the  room  with  his  shoulders  hunched  up. 
Then  he  said,  pointing  to  the  baby,  "Take  him 
away.  I  want  to  talk  with  the  good  wife." 
I  went  out  into  the  yard,  and  managed  to  pass 
the  window  as  often  as  I  could.  Pauline  had 
not  moved  from  her  chair.  Her  hands  lay  on 
her  knees,  and  she  was  bending  her  head  for- 
ward as  though  she  were  trying  to  understand 
something  very  difficult.  M.  Tirande  was 
talking  without  looking  at  her.  He  kept 
walking  from  the  fireplace  to  the  door  and 
back  again,  and  the  noise  of  his  heels  on  the 
tiled  floor  got  mixed  up  with  his  broken  little 
voice.  He  came  out  again  as  fast  as  he  had 
come  in,  and  I  went  and  asked  Pauline  what 
he  had  said.  She  took  the  baby  in  her  arms 

138 


MARIE-CLAIRE  133 

and,  crying  as  she  told  me,  she  said  that  M. 
Tirande  was  going  to  take  the  farm  away 
from  her  and  give  it  to  his  son,  who  had  just 
got  married. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  M.  Tirande  came 
back  with  his  son  and  his  daughter-in-law. 
They  visited  the  outhouses  first,  and  when 
they  came  into  the  house,  M.  Tirande  stopped 
in  front  of  me  a  minute,  and  told  me  that  his 
daughter-in-law  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
take  me  into  her  service.  Pauline  heard  him 
say  so,  and  made  a  step  towards  me.  But  just 
then  Eugene  came  in  with  a  lot  of  papers  in 
is  hand,  and  everybody  sat  down  round  the 
table.  While  they  were  all  reading  the 
papers  and  signing,  I  looked  at  M.  Tirande's 
daughter-in-law.  She  was  a  big,  dark 
woman  with  large  eyes  and  a  bored  look.  She 
left  the  farm  with  her  husband  without  hav- 
ing glanced  at  me  once.  When  their  cart  had 
disappeared  down  the  avenue  of  chestnut  trees, 
Pauline  told  Eugene  what  M.  Tirande  had 
said  to  me.  Eugene,  who  was  leaving  the 
room,  turned  to  me  suddenly.  He  looked 
very  angry,  and  his  voice  was  quite  changed. 
He  said  that  these  people  were  disposing  of 
me  as  though  I  were  a  bit  of  furniture  which 
belonged  to  them.  While  Pauline  was  pitying 


134  MARIE-CLAIRE 

me,  Eugene  told  me  that  it  was  M.  Tirande 
who  had  told  Master  Silvain  to  take  me  on  the 
farm.  He  reminded  Pauline  how  sorry  the 
farmer  had  been  because  I  was  such  a  weak- 
ling, and  he  told  me  that  he  was  very  sorry 
not  to  be  able  to  take  me  with  them  to  their 
new  farm.  We  were  all  three  standing  in  the 
living-room.  I  could  feel  Pauline's  sad  eyes 
on  my  head,  and  Eugene's  voice  made  me 
think  of  a  hymn.  Pauline  was  to  leave  the 
farm  at  the  end  of  the  summer. 

I  worked  hard  every  day  to  put  the  linen 
in  order.  I  didn't  want  Pauline  to  take  away 
a  single  piece  of  torn  linen  with  her.  I 
worked  hard  with  my  darning-needle,  as 
Bonne  Justine  had  taught  me,  and  I  folded 
every  piece  as  well  as  I  could. 

In  the  evening  I  found  Eugene  sitting  on 
the  bench  by  the  door.  The  moon  was  shin- 
ing on  the  roofs  of  the  sheep-pens,  and  there 
was  a  white  cloud  over  the  dung-heap  which 
looked  like  a  tulle  veil.  There  was  no  sound 
whatever  from  the  cowhouse.  All  that  we 
heard  was  the  squeaking  of  the  cradle  which 
Pauline  was  rocking  to  put  her  child  to  sleep. 

As  soon  as  the  corn  had  been  got  in,  Eugene 
began  getting  ready  to  go.  The  cowherd 
took  away  the  cattle,  old  Bibiche  went  off  in 


MARIE-CLAIRE  135 

the  cart  with  all  the  birds  of  the  poultry-yard. 
In  a  few  days  nothing  was  left  at  the  farm 
but  the  two  white  oxen,  which  Eugene  would 
trust  to  nobody  but  himself.  He  fastened 
them  to  the  cart  which  was  to  take  Pauline 
and  her  child.  The  little  fellow  was  fast  asleep 
in  a  basket  full  of  straw,  and  Eugene  put  him 
into  the  cart  without  waking  him  up.  Paul- 
ine covered  him  with  her  shawl,  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  towards  the  house,  took  up  the 
reins,  and  the  cart  went  slowly  off  under  the 
chestnut  trees. 

I  wanted  to  go  with  them  as  far  as  the  high- 
road, and  I  followed  the  cart,  walking  be- 
hind the  oxen,  between  Eugene  and  Martine. 
None  of  us  spoke.  Every  now  and  then  Eu- 
gene gave  the  oxen  a  friendly  pat.  We  were 
quite  a  long  way  on  the  road  when  Pauline 
saw  that  the  sun  was  setting.  She  stopped 
the  horse,  and,  when  I  had  climbed  on  to  the 
step  to  kiss  her  good-bye,  she  said  sadly,  "God 
be  with  you,  my  girl.  Behave  well."  Then 
her  voice  filled  with  tears,  and  she  added,  "If 
my  poor  husband  were  living  he  would  never 
have  given  you  up."  Martine  kissed  me,  and 
smiled.  "We  may  see  one  another  again," 
she  said.  Eugene  took  his  hat  off.  He  held 
my  hand  in  his  for  a  long  time,  and  said 


136  MARIE-CLAIRE 

slowly,  "Good-bye,  dear  little  friend.    I  shall 
always  remember  you." 

I  walked  a  little  way  back,  and  turned  round 
to  see  them  again,  and,  although  it  was  getting 
jdark,  I  saw  that  Eugene  and  Martine  were 
walking  hand  in  hand. 


PART  III 


THE  new  farmers  came  next  day.    The 
farm  hands  and  the  serving  women  had 
come  early  in  the  morning,  and  when 
the  masters  arrived  in  the  evening  I  knew  that 
they  were  called  Monsieur  and  Madame  Al- 
phonse.     M.  Tirande  remained  at  Villevieille 
for  two  days,  and  went  off  after  reminding  me 
that  I  was  in   his    daughter-in-law's  service 
now,  and  that  I  should  have  to  do  no  more 
outside  work  on  the  farm. 


139 


THE  very  first  week  she  was  there  Ma- 
dame Alphonse  had  had  Eugene's 
room  turned  into  a  linen- room,  and 
she  had  set  me  to  work  at  a  big  table  on  which 
were  a  number  of  pieces  of  linen  which  I  was 
to  make  into  sheets  and  other  things.  She 
came  and  sat  down  next  to  me,  and  worked  at 
making  lace.  She  would  remain  for  whole 
days  at  a  time  without  saying  a  word.  Some- 
times she  talked  to  me  about  the  linen  presses 
which  her  mother  had,  full  of  all  kinds  of 
linen. 

Her  voice  had  no  ring  to  it,  and  she  scarcely 
moved  her  lips  when  she  spoke.  M.  Tirande 
seemed  very  fond  of  his  daughter-in-law. 
Every  time  he  came  he  always  asked  her  what 
she  would  like  him  to  give  her.  She  cared 
for  nothing  but  linen,  and  he  went  off  saying 
that  he  would  get  her  some  more. 

M.  Alphonse  never  appeared  at  all  except 
at  meal  times.  I  should  have  found  it  very 
difficult  to  say  what  he  did  with  his  time. 
His  face  reminded  me  of  the  Mother 
Superior's  face  somehow.  Like  her,  he  had 

140 


MARIE-CLAIRE  141 

a  yellow  skin  and  his  eyes  glittered.  He 
looked  as  though  he  carried  a  brazier  inside 
him  which  might  burn  him  up  at  any  minute. 
He  was  very  pious,  and  every  Sunday  he  and 
Madame  Alphonse  went  to  mass  in  the  village 
where  M.  Tirande  lived.  At  first  they  wanted 
to  take  me  in  their  cart,  but  I  refused.  I 
preferred  going  to  Sainte  Montagne,  where 
I  always  hoped  to  meet  Pauline  or  Eugene. 
Sometimes  one  of  the  farm  hands  came  with 
me,  but  more  often  I  would  go  alone  by  a 
little  cross-road,  which  made  the  way  much 
shorter.  It  was  a  steep  and  stony  bit  of  road 
which  ran  uphill  through  .the  broom.  On 
the  very  top  of  it  I  always  used  to  stop  in  front 
of  Jean  le  Rouge's  house.  This  house  was 
low-roofed  and  spreading.  The  walls  were 
as  black  as  the  thatch  which  covered  it,  and 
it  was  quite  easy  to  pass  by  the  house  without 
seeing  it  at  all,  for  the  broom  grew  so  high 
all  round  it.  I  used  to  go  in  for  a  chat  with 
Jean  le  Rouge,  whom  I  had  known  ever  since 
I  had  been  at  Villevieille  farm.  He  had  al- 
ways worked  for  Master  Silvain,  who  thought 
very  highly  of  him.  Eugene  used  to  say  of 
him  that  one  could  set  him  to  anything,  and 
that  whatever  he  did  he  did  well. 


NOW  M.  Alphonse  refused  to  employ 
him  any  more.  He  spoke  of  sending 
him  away  from  the  house  on  the  hill. 
Jean  le  Rouge  was  so  upset  by  the  idea  that 
he  could  talk  of  nothing  else. 

Directly  after  mass  I  used  to  go  home  by 
the  same  road.  Jean's  children  would  crowd 
round  me  to  get  the  consecrated  wafer,  which 
I  brought  out  of  church  for  them.  There 
were  six  of  them,  and  the  eldest  was  not  yet 
twelve  years  old.  There  was  hardly  one 
mouthful  of  my  consecrated  wafer,  so  I  used 
to  give  it  to  Jean's  wife  to  divide  up  and 
give  to  the  children  in  equal  shares.  While 
she  was  doing  this,  Jean  le  Rouge  would  set 
a  Stool  for  me  in  front  of  the  fire  and  would 
seat  himself  on  a  log  of  wood,  which  he  would 
roll  to  the  fireplace  with  his  foot.  His  wife 
put  some  twigs  on  the  fire  with  a  pair  of  heavy 
pincers,  and  as  we  sat  and  talked  we  watched 
the  big  yellow  potatoes  cooking  in  the  pot 
which  hung  from  a  hook  in  the  fireplace. 

On  the  very  first  Sunday  Jean  le  Rouge  had 
told  me,  "I  too  was  a  foundling."  Little  by 

142 


MARIE-CLAIRE  143 

little  he  had  told  me  that  when  he  was  twelve 
he  had  been  put  to  work  with  a  woodcutter 
who  used  to  live  in  the  house  on  the  hill.  He 
had  very  soon  learned  how  to  climb  up  the 
trees  to  fasten  a  rope  to  the  top  branches  so 
as  to  pull  them  over.  When  the  day's  work 
was  done  and  he  had  his  faggot  of  wood  on 
his  back,  he  would  go  on  ahead  so  as  to  get 
to  the  house  first.  And  there  he  used  to  find 
the  woodcutter's  little  daughter  cooking  the 
so»p  for  supper.  She  was  of  the  same  age 
as  ne  was,  and  they  had  become  the  best  of 
friends  at  once. 

Then,  one  Christmas  Eve,  came  the  mis- 
fortune. The  old  woodcutter,  who  thought 
that  the  children  were  fast  asleep,  went  off  to 
midnight  mass.  But  directly  he  had  gone 
they  got  up.  They  wanted  to  prepare  mid- 
night supper  for  the  old  man's  return,  and 
they  danced  with  glee  at  the  surprise  they  were 
getting  ready  for  him.  While  the  little  girl 
was  cooking  the  chestnuts  and  putting  the  pot 
of  honey  and  the  jug  of  cider  on  the  table, 
Jean  le  Rouge  heaped  great  logs  on  to  the 
fire.  Time  went  on,  the  chestnuts  were 
cooked,  and  the  woodcutter  had  not  yet  come 
home.  It  seemed  a  long  time.  The  chil- 
dren sat  down  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  fire 


144  MARIE-CLAIRE 

to  keep  themselves  warm,  leaned  up  against 
one  another,  and  fell  asleep.  Jean  woke  up 
at  the  little  girl's  screams.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand at  first  why  she  was  throwing  her 
arms  about  and  shrieking  at  the  fire.  He 
jumped  to  his  feet  to  run  away  from  her,  and 
then  he  saw  that  she  was  ablaze.  She  had 
opened  the  door  to  the  garden,  and  as  she  ran 
out  she  lit  the  trees  up.  Then  Jean  had 
caught  hold  of  her  and  thrown  her  into  the 
little  well.  The  water  had  put  the  flames  out, 
but  when  Jean  tried  to  pull  her  out  of  the 
well  he  found  her  so  heavy  that  he  thought 
she  must  be  dead.  She  made  no  movement, 
and  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  her  out. 
At  last,  when  he  did  get  her  out,  he  had  to 
drag  her  along  like  a  bundle  of  sticks  back 
to  the  house. 

The  logs  had  become  great  red  embers. 
Only  the  biggest  one,  which  was  wet,  went 
on  smoking  and  crackling.  The  little  girl's 
face  was  all  bloated,  and  was  black  with  vio- 
let veins  in  it.  Her  body,  which  was  half 
naked,  was  covered  with  big  red  burns. 

She  was  ill  for  many  months,  and  when  at 
last  they  thought  she  was  cured,  they  found 
out  that  she  had  become  dumb.  She  could 
hear  perfectly  well,  she  could  even  laugh  like 


MARIE-CLAIRE  145 

everybody  else,  but  it  was  quite  impossible 
for  her  to  speak  a  single  word. 

While  Jean  le  Rouge  was  telling  me  these 
things  his  wife  used  to  look  at  him  and  move 
her  eyes  as  if  she  were  reading  a  book.  Her 
face  still  bore  deep  burn  marks,  but  one  soon 
got  accustomed  to  it,  and  remembered  noth- 
ing of  her  face  but  the  mouth  with  its  white 
teeth,  and  her  eyes,  which  were  never  still. 
She  used  to  call  her  children  with  a  long,  low 
cry,  and  they  came  running  up,  and  always 
understood  all  the  signs  she  made  to  them.  I 
was  so  sorry  that  they  had  to  leave  the  house 
on  the  hill.  They  were  the  last  friends  I  had 
left,  and  I  thought  of  telling  Madame  Al- 
phonse  about  them,  hoping  that  she  might  get 
her  husband  to  keep  them  on.  I  found  an 
opportunity  one  day,  when  M.  Tirande  and 
his  son  had  come  into  the  linen-room  talking 
about  the  changes  they  were  going  to  make 
at  the  farm.  M.  Alphonse  said  he  didn't  want 
any  cattle.  He  spoke  of  buying  machinery, 
cutting  down  the  pine  trees  and  clearing  the 
hillside.  The  stables  would  do  for  sheds  for 
the  machines,  and  he  would  use  the  house  on 
the  hill  to  store  fodder  in.  I  don't  know 
whether  Madame  Alphonse  was  listening. 
She  went  on  making  lace,  and  seemed  to  be 


146  MARIE-CLAIRE 

giving  her  full  attention  to  it.  As  soon  as  the 
two  men  had  gone  I  plucked  up  courage  to  talk 
of  Jean  le  Rouge.  I  told  her  how  useful  he 
had  been  to  Master  Silvain.  I  told  her  how 
sorry  he  was  to  leave  the  house  in  which  he 
had  lived  for  so  long,  and  when  I  stopped, 
trembling  for  the  answer  which  was  coming, 
Madame  Alphonse  took  her  needles  out  of  the 
thread.  "I  believe  I  have  made  a  mistake," 
she  said.  She  counted  up  to  nineteen,  and 
said  again,  "What  a  nuisance  it  is.  I  shall 
have  to  undo  a  whole  row."  When  I  told 
Jean  le  Rouge  about  this,  he  was  angry,  and 
shook  his  fist  at  Villevieille.  His  wife  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  at  him, 
and  he  was  quiet  at  once. 

Jean  le  Rouge  left  the  house  on  the  hill  at 
the  end  of  January,  and  I  was  very  sad. 


I  HAD  no  friends  left  now.  I  hardly  rec- 
ognized the  farm  any  more.  All  these 
new  people  had  made  themselves  quite  at 
home  there,  and  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be  a 
new-comer.  The  serving-woman  looked  at 
me  with  distrust,  and  the  ploughman  avoided 
talking  to  me.  The  servant's  name  was  Adele. 
All  day  long  you  could  hear  her  grumbling 
and  dragging  her  wooden  shoes  after  her  as 
she  walked.  She  made  a  noise  even  when  she 
was  walking  on  straw.  She  used  to  eat  her 
meals  standing,  and  answer  her  master  and 
mistress  quite  rudely. 

M.  Alphonse  had  taken  away  the  bench 
which  was  by  the  door,  and  had  put  up  little 
green  bushes  with  trellis-work  round  them. 
He  cut  down  the  old  elm  tree,  too,  to  which 
the  wood  owl  used  to  come  on  summer  even- 
ings. 

Of  course  the  old  tree  had  not  shaded  the 
house  for  a  long  time.  It  only  had  one  tuft 
of  leaves  right  up  on  the  top.  It  looked  like 
a  head  which  bent  over  to  listen  to  what  people 
underneath  were  saying.  The  woodcutters 

147 


148  MARIE-CLAIRE 

who  came  to  cut  it  down  said  that  it  would 
not  be  an  easy  thing  to  do.  They  said  there 
was  some  danger  that  when  it  fell  it  would 
crash  through  the  roof  of  the  house. 

At  last,  after  a  lot  of  talk,  they  decided  to 
rope  it  round  and  pull  it  over  so  that  it  fell  on 
to  the  dung-heap.  It  took  two  men  all  day 
to  cut  it  down,  and  just  when  we  thought  that 
it  was  going  to  drop  nicely,  one  of  the  ropes 
worked  loose,  and  the  old  elm  jumped  and  fell 
to  one  side.  It  slipped  down  the  roof,  knock- 
ing down  a  chimney  and  a  large  number  of 
tiles,  bumped  a  piece  out  of  the  wall,  and  fell 
right  across  the  door.  Not  one  of  its  branches 
touched  the  dung-heap.  M.  Alphonse  yelled 
with  rage.  He  laid  hold  of  the  axe  belong- 
ing to  one  of  the  woodcutters,  and  struck  the 
tree  so  violent  a  blow  that  a  piece  of  bark 
flew  against  the  linen-room  window  and  broke 
a  pane. 

Madame  Alphonse  saw  the  bits  of  glass 
fall  on  me.  She  jumped  up  in  more  excite- 
ment than  I  had  ever  seen  her  show,  and  with 
trembling  hands  and  fearful  eyes  she  exam- 
ined closely  every  bit  of  the  table-cloth  which 
I  was  embroidering.  But  she  did  not  see  me 
wiping  away  the  blood  from  my  cheek  which 
had  been  cut  by  a  bit  of  glass.  She  was  so 


MARIE-CLAIRE  149 

afraid  that  something  might  happen  to  the 
piles  of  linen  which  were  beginning  to  grow 
that  she  took  me  off  next  day  to  her  mother's 
to  show  me  how  linen  should  be  put  into 
closets. 


MADAME  ALPHONSE'S  mother 
was  called  Madame  Deslois,  but  when 
the  ploughmen  talked  about  her  they 
always  said  "the  good  woman  of  the  castle." 
She  had  only  been  to  Villevieille  once.  She 
had  come  close  up  to  me  and  looked  at  me 
with  her  eyes  half  shut.  She  was  a  big  woman 
who  walked  bent  double  as  if  she  were  look- 
ing for  something  on  the  ground.  She  lived 
in  a  big  house  called  the  Lost  Ford. 

Madame  Alphonse  took  me  along  by  a  path 
near  a  little  river.  It  was  the  end  of  March, 
and  the  meadows  were  already  in  flower. 
Madame  Alphonse  walked  straight  along  the 
path,  but  I  got  a  lot  of  pleasure  out  of 
walking  in  the  soft  grass. 

We  soon  came  to  the  wood  where  the  wolf 
had  taken  my  lamb.  I  had  always  had  a  mys- 
terious fear  of  this  wood,  and  when  we  left 
the  path  by  the  river  to  go  through  it  I  shook 
with  fear.  And  yet  the  road  was  a  broad 
one.  It  must  even  have  been  a  carriage  road, 
for  there  were  deep  ruts  in  it. 

Above  our  heads  heaps   of  pine  needles 

150 


MARIE-CLAIRE  151 

tickled  one  another  and  rustled.  They  made 
a  gentle  noise,  not  a  bit  like  the  whispering 
with  silences  in  between,  which  I  used  to  hear 
in  the  forest  when  the  snow  was  on  it.  But  in 
spite  of  all  I  could  not  help  looking  behind 
me.  We  didn't  walk  very  far  through  the 
wood.  The  road  turned  to  the  left  and  we 
got  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Lost  Ford  imme- 
diately. The  little  river  ran  behind  the 
stables  as  it  did  at  Villevieille,  but  here  the 
meadows  were  quite  close  together,  and  the 
buildings  looked  as  though  they  were  trying 
to  hide  among  the  sapling  pines.  The  living 
house  didn't  look  anything  like  the  farms 
thereabouts.  The  ground  floor  was  built  of 
very  thick  old  walls,  and  the  first  floor  looked 
as  though  it  had  been  put  on  top  of  them  as  a 
makeshift.  The  house  did  not  look  a  bit  like 
a  castle  to  me.  It  made  me  think  of  an  old 
tree  trunk  out  of  which  a  baby  tree  had 
sprouted,  and  sprouted  badly. 

Madame  Deslois  came  to  the  door  when  she 
heard  us  arrive.  She  winked  her  little  eyes 
as  she  looked  at  me  and  said  at  once  in  a  loud 
voice  that  she  had  dropped  a  halfpenny  in  the 
straw,  and  that  it  was  very  funny  that  nobody 
had  found  it,  as  it  had  been  lost  for  a  week. 
While  she  spoke  she  moved  her  foot  about  and 


152  MARIE-CLAIRE 

stirred  the  straw  which  was  in  front  of  the 
door.  Madame  Alphonse  cannot  have  heard 
her.  Her  big  eyes  were  staring  into  the 
house,  and  she  was  almost  excited  when  she 
said  why  we  had  come.  Madame  Deslois  said 
that  she  would  take  me  to  the  linen-room  her- 
self. She  put  the  keys  into  the  locks  of  the 
cupboards,  and  after  having  told  me  to  be  very 
careful,  and  to  disarrange  nothing,  she  left  me 
alone. 

It  didn't  take  me  long  to  open  and  close  the 
great  shining  cupboards.  I  should  have  liked 
to  go  away  at  once.  This  big  cold  linen-room 
frightened  me  like  a  prison.  My  feet 
sounded  on  the  tiles  as  though  there  were  deep 
vaults  underneath  them.  All  of  a  sudden  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  should  never  get  out  of 
this  linen-room  again.  I  listened  to  see 
whether  I  could  hear  any  animals  stirring,  but 
I  only  heard  Madame  Deslois's  voice.  It 
was  a  rough,  strong  voice  which  went  right 
through  the  walls,  and  could  be  heard  every- 
where. I  was  going  to  the  window  so  as  to 
feel  a  little  less  lonely,  when  a  door  which  I 
had  not  noticed  suddenly  opened  behind  me. 
I  turned  my  head  and  saw  a  young  man  come 
in.  He  wore  a  long  white  smock  and  a  grey 
cap.  He  stood  standing  as  though  he  were 


MARIE-CLAIRE  153 

surprised  to  see  anybody  there,  and  I  went 
on  looking  at  him  without  being  able  to  take 
my  eyes  away.  He  walked  right  across  the 
linen-room,  and  he  and  I  stared  and  stared  at 
one  another.  Then  he  went  out,  banging  him- 
self against  the  woodwork  of  the  door.  A 
moment  afterwards  he  passed  by  the  window 
and  our  eyes  met  again.  I  felt  quite  uncom- 
fortable, and  without  knowing  why  I  went 
and  shut  the  doors  which  he  had  left  open. 

Presently  Madame  Alphonse  came  and 
fetched  me,  and  I  went  back  to  Villevieille 
with  her. 

Since  M.  Alphonse  had  taken  Pauline's 
place  I  had  got  into  the  habit  of  going  and 
sitting  in  a  bush  which  had  grown  into  the 
shape  of  a  chair.  It  was  in  the  middle  of 
a  shrubbery  not  far  from  the  farm.  Now  that 
spring  was  beginning  I  used  to  go  and  sit 
there  when  the  ploughmen  were  smoking  their 
pipes  at  the  stable  doors.  I  used  to  sit  there 
listening  to  the  little  noises  of  the  evening, 
and  I  longed  to  be  like  the  trees.  That  even- 
ing I  thought  of  the  man  I  had  seen  at  Lost 
Ford.  But  every  time  I  tried  to  remember 
the  exact  colour  of  his  eyes  they  pierced  into 
my  own  eyes  so  that  they  seemed  to  be  light- 
ing me  all  up  inside. 


THE  next  Sunday  was  Easter  Sunday. 
Adele  had  gone  to  mass  in  M.  Al- 
phonse's  cart  I  remained  alone  to 
look  after  the  farm  with  one  of  the  plough- 
men. After  luncheon  the  ploughman  went  to 
sleep  on  a  heap  of  straw  in  front  of  the  door, 
and  I  went  to  my  shrubbery  to  spend  the  after- 
noon. I  tried  to  hear  the  bells  ringing,  but 
the  farm  was  too  far  from  the  villages  round, 
and  I  could  hear  none  of  them. 

I  began  to  think  about  Sister  Marie- Aimee, 
and  my  thoughts  went  back  to  Sophie,  who 
used  to  come  and  wake  me  up  every  year  so 
that  I  should  hear  all  the  bells  ringing  in 
Easter  together.  One  year  she  didn't  wake 
up.  She  was  so  upset  at  that  that  next 
year  she  put  a  big  stone  in  her  mouth  to  keep 
herself  from  sleeping.  Every  time  she 
nodded  off  her  teeth  met  on  the  stone,  and  she 
woke  up. 

I  sat  and  thought  about  High  Mass  where 
Colette  used  to  sing  in  her  beautiful  voice, 
and  I  could  see  our  afternoon  on  the  lawn, 

154 


MARIE-CLAIRE  155 

and  Sister  Marie-Aimee  busy  with  the  special 
dinner  which  they  gave  us  on  feast  days.  And 
that  evening  when  dinner  time  came  I  should 
see,  instead  of  Sister  Marie- Aimee's  sweet  lov- 
ing face,  Madame  Alphonse's  hard  face  and 
her  husband's  glittering  eyes,  which  frightened 
me  so.  And  as  I  sat  and  thought  how  long  I 
should  still  have  to  stay  on  the  farm  I  felt 
deeply  discouraged. 

When  I  was  tired  of  crying  I  saw  with 
astonishment  that  the  sun  was  quite  low. 
Through  the  branches  of  my  shrubbery  I 
watched  the  long  thin  shadows  of  the  poplar 
trees  growing  longer  than  ever  on  the  grass, 
and  quite  close  to  me  I  saw  a  long  shadow 
which  was  moving.  It  came  forward,  then 
stopped,  and  then  came  forward  again. 
I  understood  at  once  that  somebody  was  going 
to  pass  my  hiding-place,  and  almost  immedi- 
ately the  man  in  the  white  smock  walked  into 
the  shrubbery,  stooping  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  the  branches.  I  felt  cold  all  over.  I  soon 
got  control  of  myself,  but  I  could  not  help 
trembling  nervously.  He  remained  standing 
in  front  of  me  without  saying  a  word.  I  sat 
and  looked  at  his  eyes,  which  were  very  gen- 
tle, and  began  to  feel  warm  again.  I  no- 
ticed that,  as  Eugene  used  to,  he  wore  a  col- 


156  MARIE-CLAIRE 

cured  shirt  and  a  cravat  tied  under  the  collar, 
and  when  he  spoke  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
known  his  voice  for  a  long  time.  He  leaned 
against  a  big  branch  opposite  me,  and  asked 
me  if  I  had  no  relations.  I  said  "No."  His 
eye  ran  along  the  branch  covered  with  young 
shoots,  and  without  looking  at  me  he  said 
again,  "Then  you  are  all  alone  in  the  world." 
I  answered  quickly,  "Oh  no,  I  have  Sister 
Marie- Aimee!"  And  without  leaving  him 
time  to  ask  any  more  questions  I  told  him  how 
I  had  longed  for  her,  and  how  impatiently 
I  was  waiting  and  hoping  to  see  her  again. 
Talking  about  her  made  me  so  happy  that  I 
could  not  stop  talking.  I  told  him  of  her 
beauty  and  of  her  intelligence,  which  seemed 
to  me  to  be  above  everything  in  the  world.  I 
told  him,  too,  how  sorry  she  had  been  when 
I  went  away,  and  of  the  joy  that  I  knew  she 
would  feel  when  she  saw  me  come  back. 

While  I  talked  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  my 
face,  but  they  seemed  to  look  much  further. 
After  a  silence  he  asked  again,  "Have  you  no 
friends  here?"  "No,"  I  said;  "all  those 
whom  I  loved  have  gone" ;  and  I  added  rather 
angrily,  "They  have  even  turned  out  Jean  le 
Rouge."  "And  yet,"  he  said  "Madame  Al- 
phonse  is  not  unkind?"  I  told  him  that  she 


MARIE-CLAIRE  157 

was  neither  unkind  nor  kind,  and  that  I  should 
leave  her  without  any  regret. 

Then  we  heard  the  sound  of  M.  Alphonse's 
cart-wheels,  and  I  got  up  to  go.  He  stood 
aside  a  little  to  let  me  pass  him,  and  I  left  him 
alone  in  the  shrubbery. 

That  evening  I  took  advantage  of  the  un- 
usually good  humour  of  Adele  to  ask  her  if 
she  knew  any  of  the  ploughmen  at  the  Lost 
Ford.  She  said  she  only  knew  some  of  the 
old  ones,  for  since  Madame  Deslois  had  been 
a  widow  the  new  ones  never  stayed  with  her. 
A  sort  of  fear  which  I  could  not  have  ex- 
plained kept  me  from  mentioning  the  young 
man  in  the  white  smock,  and  Adele  added 
with  a  wag  of  her  chin:  "Fortunately  her 
eldest  son  has  come  back  from  Paris.  The 
farm  hands  will  be  happier." 

Next  day  while  Madame  Alphonse  was 
working  at  her  lace,  I  sewed  and  thought 
about  the  ploughman  in  the  white  smock.  I 
could  not  in  my  mind  help  comparing  him 
to  Eugene.  He  spoke  like  Eugene  did,  and 
they  seemed  like  one  another  somehow. 

That  evening  I  thought  I  saw  him  near  the 
stables,  and  a  moment  later  he  came  into  the 
linen-rdom.  His  eyes  just  glanced  at  me  and 
then  he  looked  straight  at  Madame  Alphonse. 


158  MABIE-CLAIKE 

He  held  his  head  high  and  the  left  side  of  his 
mouth  dropped  a  little.  Madame  Alphonse 
said,  in  a  happy  voice,  when  she  saw  him, 
"Why,  there's  Henri!"  and  she  let  him  kiss 
her  on  both  cheeks,  and  told  him  to  bring  a 
chair  up  next  to  her.  But  he  sat  sideways  on 
the  table,  pushing  the  linen  to  one  side.  Adele 
came  into  the  room,  and  Madame  Alphonse 
said,  "If  you  see  my  husband,  tell  him  that 
my  brother  is  here." 

It  was  some  minutes  before  I  understood. 
Then  I  realized  suddenly  that  the  young  man 
in  the  white  smock  was  Madame  Deslois's 
eldest  son.  A  sense  of  shame  which  I  had 
never  felt  before  made  me  blush  fiercely,  and 
I  was  ever  so  sorry  that  I  had  spoken  about 
Sister  Marie- Aimee.  I  felt  that  I  had  thrown 
the  thing  that  I  loved  best  to  the  winds,  and 
do  what  I  could,  I  could  not  keep  back  two 
big  tears  which  tickled  the  corners  of  my 
mouth  and  then  fell  on  the  linen  napkin  I  was 
hemming.  Henri  Deslois  remained  sitting 
on  the  corner  of  the  table  for  a  long  time.  I 
could  feel  that  he  was  looking  at  me,  and  his 
eyes  were  like  a  heavy  weight  which  pre- 
vented me  from  lifting  up  my  head. 


f  I  1WO  days  afterwards  I  found  him  in  the 
shrubbery.  When  I  saw  him  sitting 
there  my  legs  felt  weak  under  me,  and 
I  stood  still.  He  got  up  at  once  so  that  I 
should  sit  down ;  but  I  remained  standing  and 
looking  at  him.  He  had  the  same  gentleness 
in  his  eyes  that  I  had  noticed  the  first  time, 
and,  as  if  he  expected  me  to  tell  him  another 
story,  "Have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  this  even- 
ing?" he  asked.  Words  danced  across  my 
brain,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  be  worth  speak- 
ing, and  I  shook  my  head  to  say  no.  He  said, 
"I  was  your  friend  the  other  day."  Recollec- 
tion of  what  I  had  said  the  other  day  made  me 
feel  worse  than  ever,  and  I  only  said,  "You 
are  Madame  Alphonse's  brother."  I  left  him 
and  did  not  dare  to  go  back  to  the  shrubbery 
again.  He  often  came  back  to  Villevieille. 
I  never  used  to  look  at  him,  but  his  voice  al- 
ways made  me  feel  very  uncomfortable. 


159 


SINCE  Jean  le  Rouge  had  gone  I  had 
never  known  what  to  do  with  my  time 
after  mass.  Every  Sunday  I  used  to 
pass  the  house  on  the  hill.  Sometimes  I  would 
look  in  through  the  gaps  in  the  shutters,  and 
when,  as  I  sometimes  did,  I  bumped  my  head, 
the  noise  it  made  used  to  frighten  me.  One 
Sunday  I  noticed  that  there  was  no  lock  on 
the  door.  I  put  my  finger  on  the  latch  and 
the  door  fell  open  with  a  loud  noise.  I  had 
not  expected  it  to  open  so  quickly,  and  I 
stood  there  longing  to  shut  it  and  go  away. 
Then  as  there  was  no  more  noise,  and  as  the 
sun  had  streamed  into  the  house  making  a  big 
square  of  light,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  in, 
and  went,  after  leaving  the  door  open.  The 
big  fireplace  was  empty.  There  was  no  hook, 
there  was  no  pot,  and  the  big  andirons  had 
gone.  The  only  things  left  in  the  room  were 
the  logs  of  wood  which  Jean  le  Rouge's  chil- 
dren used  as  stools.  The  bark  was  worn  off 
them,  and  the  tops  of  them  were  polished,  as 
if  with  wax,  from  the  children  sitting  on  them. 
The  second  room  was  quite  empty.  There 

160 


MARIE-CLAIRE  161 

were  no  tiles  on  the  floor,  and  the  feet  of  the 
beds  had  made  little  holes  in  the  beaten  earth. 
There  was  no  lock  to  the  other  door  either, 
and  I  went  out  into  the  garden.  There  were 
a  few  winter  vegetables  in  the  beds  still,  and 
the  fruit  trees  were  all  in  flower.  Most  of 
them  were  very  old.  Some  of  them  looked 
like  hunchbacks,  and  their  branches  bent  to- 
wards the  ground,  as  though  they  found  that 
even  the  flowers  were  too  heavy  for  them  ,to 
carry.  At  the  bottom  of  the  garden  the  hill 
ran  down  to  an  immense  plain  where  the  cattle 
used  to  graze,  and  right  at  the  end  a  row  of 
poplars  made  a  sort  of  barrier  which  kept  the 
sky  out  of  the  meadow  land.  Little  by  little 
I  recognized  one  place  after  another.  There 
was  a  little  river  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  I 
could  not  see  the  water,  but  the  willows  looked 
as  though  they  were  standing  on  one  side  to 
let  it  pass.  The  river  disappeared  behind 
the  buildings  of  Villevieille  farm.  There  the 
roofs  were  of  the  same  colour  as  the  chestnut 
trees,  and  the  river  went  on  on  the  other  side 
of  them.  Here  and  there  I  could  see  it  shin- 
ing between  the  poplar  trees.  Then  it  plunged 
into  the  great  pine  wood,  which  looked  quite 
black,  in  which  the  Lost  Ford  was  hidden. 
That  was  the  road  I  had  taken  with  Madame 


162  MARIE-CLAIRE 

Alphonse,  when  we  went  to  her  mother's 
house.  Her  brother  must  have  come  that  way 
that  day  when  he  found  me  in  the  shrubbery. 
There  was  nobody  on  the  road  to-day. 
Everything  was  tender  green,  and  I  could  see 
no  white  smock  among  the  clumps  of  trees. 
I  tried  to  see  the  shrubbery,  but  the  farm  hid 
it  Henri  Deslois  had  been  in  the  shrubbery 
several  times  since  Easter.  I  could  not  have 
told  how  I  knew  that  he  was  there,  but  on 
those  days  I  could  never  prevent  myself  from 
walking  round  that  way. 

Yesterday  Henri  Deslois  had  come  into  the 
linen-room  while  I  was  there  alone.  He  had 
opened  his  mouth  as  though  he  were  going  to 
talk  to  me.  I  had  looked  at  him  as  I  had 
done  the  first  time,  and  he  went  away  without 
saying  anything.  And  now  that  I  was  in  the 
open  garden  surrounded  by  broom  in  flower 
I  longed  to  be  able  to  live  there  always. 
There  was  a  big  apple  tree  leaning  over  me, 
dipping  the  end  of  its  branches  in  the  spring. 
The  spring  came  out  of  the  hollow  trunk  of  a 
tree,  and  the  overflow  trickled  in  little  brooks 
over  the  beds.  This  garden  of  flowers  and 
clear  water  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  most  beau- 
tiful garden  in  the  world.  And  when  I 
turned  my  head  towards  the  house,  which 


MARIE-CLAIRE  163 

stood  open  to  the  sunshine,  I  seemed  to  expect 
extraordinary  people  to  come  out  of  it.  The 
house  seemed  full  of  mystery  to  me.  Queer 
little  sounds  came  out  of  it,  and  a  few  mo- 
ments ago  I  thought  that  I  had  heard  the 
same  sound  that  Henri  Deslois's  feet  made 
when  he  stepped  into  the  linen-room  at  Ville- 
vieille. 

I  had  been  listening  as  though  I  expected 
to  see  him  coming,  but  I  had  not  heard  his 
footstep  again,  and  presently  I  noticed  that 
the  broom  and  the  trees  were  making  all  kinds 
of  mysterious  sounds.  I  began  to  imagine 
that  I  was  a  little  tree,  and  that  the  wind 
stirred  me  as  it  liked.  The  same  fresh  breeze 
which  made  the  broom  rock  passed  over  my 
head  and  tangled  my  hair,  and  so  as  to  do  like 
the  other  tree  did  I  stooped  down  and  dipped 
my  fingers  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  spring. 

Another  sound  made  me  look  at  the  house 
again,  and  I  was  not  in  the  least  surprised 
when  I  saw  Henri  Deslois  standing  framed 
in  the  doorway.  His  head  was  bare,  and  his 
arms  were  swinging.  He  stepped  out  into 
the  garden  and  looked  far  of!  into  the  plain. 
His  hair  was  parted  on  the  side,  and  was  a 
little  thin  at  the  temples.  He  remained  per- 
fectly still  for  a  long  minute,  then  he  turned 


164  MARIE-CLAIRE 

to  me.  There  were  only  two  trees  between  us. 
He  took  a  step  forward,  took  hold  of  the 
young  tree  in  front  of  him  with  one  hand,  and 
the  branches  in  flower  made  a  bouquet  over 
his  head.  It  grew  so  light  that  I  thought  the 
bark  of  the  trees  was  glittering,  and  every 
flower  was  shining.  And  in  Henri  Deslois's 
eyes  there  was  so  deep  a  gentleness  that  I  went 
to  him  without  any  shame.  He  didn't  move 
when  I  stopped  in  front  of  him.  His  face  be- 
came whiter  than  his  smock,  and  his  lips 
quivered.  He  took  my  two  hands  and  pressed 
them  hard  against  his  temples.  Then  he  said 
very  low,  "I  am  like  a  miser  who  has  found 
his  treasure  again."  At  that  moment  the  bell 
of  Sainte  Montagne  Church  began  to  ring. 
The  sound  of  the  bell  ran  up  the  hillsides,  and 
after  resting  over  our  heads  for  a  moment  ran 
on  and  died  away  in  the  distance. 

The  hours  passed,  the  day  grew  older,  and 
the  cattle  disappeared  from  the  plain.  A 
white  mist  rose  from  the  little  river,  then  a 
stone  slipped  behind  the  barrier  of  poplar 
trees,  and  the  broom  flowers  began  to  grow 
darker.  Henri  Deslois  went  back  towards 
the  farm  with  me.  He  walked  in  front  of  me 
on  the  narrow  path,  and  when  he  left  me  just 
before  we  came  to  the  avenue  of  chestnut  trees 


MARIE-CLAIRE  165 

I  knew  that  I  loved  him  even  more  than  Sis- 
ter Marie-Aimee. 

The  house  on  the  hill  became  our  house. 
Every  Sunday  I  found  Henri  Deslois  waiting 
there,  and  as  I  used  to  do  when  Jean  le  Rouge 
lived  there,  I  took  my  consecrated  wafer  to 
the  house  on  the  hill  after  mass  and  we  used 
to  laugh  as  we  divided  it. 

We  both  had  the  same  kind  of  frolic  of 
liberty  which  made  us  run  races  round  the 
garden  and- wet  our  shoes  in  the  brooklets 
from  the  spring.  Henri  Deslois  used  to  say, 
"On  Sundays  I,  too,  am  seventeen  years  old." 
Sometimes  we  would  go  for  long  walks  in  the 
woods  which  skirted  the  hill.  Henri  Deslois 
was  never  tired  of  hearing  me  talk  about  my 
childhood,  and  Sister  Marie-Aimee.  Some- 
times we  talked  about  Eugene,  whom  he  knew. 
He  used  to  say  that  he  was  one  of  those  men 
whom  one  liked  to  have  for  a  friend.  I  told 
him  what  a  bad  shepherdess  I  had  been,  and 
although  I  felt  sure  he  would  laugh  at  me, 
I  told  him  the  story  of  the  sheep  which  was 
all  swollen  up.  He  didn't  laugh.  He  put  a 
finger  on  my  forehead  and  said,  "Love  is  the 
only  thing  that  will  cure  that." 


ONE  day  we  stopped  near  an  immense 
field  of  corn.  It  was  so  big  that  we 
could  not  see  the  end  of  it.  Thou- 
sands of  white  butterflies  were  floating  about 
over  the  corn-ears.  Henri  Deslois  didn't 
speak,  and  I  watched  the  ears  of  corn  which 
were  stooping  and  stretching  as  though  they 
were  getting  ready  to  fly.  It  looked  as  though 
the  butterflies  were  bringing  them  wings  to 
help  them,  but  it  was  no  good  for  the  corn-ears 
to  get  excited.  They  could  not  get  away 
from  the  ground.  I  told  my  idea  to  Henri 
Deslois,  who  looked  at  the  corn  for  a  long 
time,  and  then,  as  though  he  were  speaking  to 
himself,  and  dragging  the  words  out,  he  said, 
"It  is  much  the  same  kind  of  thing  with  a  man. 
Sometimes  a  woman  comes  to  him.  She  looks 
like  the  white  butterflies  of  the  plain.  He 
doesn't  know  whether  she  comes  up  from  the 
earth  or  whether  she  comes  down  from  the 
sky.  He  feels  that  with  her  he  could  live 
on  the  wind  which  passes,  and  the  fresh  young 
flowers.  But  like  the  root  which  holds  the 
corn  to  earth  a  mysterious  bond  holds  him  to 

166 


MARIE-CLAIRE  167 

his  duty,  which  is  as  strong  as  the  earth."  I 
thought  that  his  voice  had  an  accent  of  suffer- 
ing, and  that  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drooped 
more  than  usual.  But  almost  immediately  his 
eyes  looked  into  mine,  and  he  said  in  a 
stronger  voice,  "We  must  have  confidence  in 
ourselves." 


SUMMER  passed  and  the  Autumn,  and  in 
spite  of  the  bad  weather  of  December  we 
could  not  make  up  our  minds  to  leave  the 
house  on  the  hill.  Henri  Deslois  used  to 
bring  books  with  him  which  we  would  read, 
sitting  on  the  logs  of  wood  in  the  back  room 
which  looked  into  the  garden.  I  went  back 
to  the  farm  at  nightfall,  and  Adele,  who 
thought  I  was  spending  my  time  dancing  in 
the  village,  was  always  surprised  that  I  looked 
so  sad. 

Almost  every  day  Henri  Deslois  came  to 
Villevieille.  I  could  hear  him  from  a  long 
way  off.  He  rode  a  great  white  mare  which 
trotted  heavily,  and  he  rode  her  without  saddle 
or  bridle.  She  was  a  patient  and  gentle  brute. 
Her  master  used  to  let  her  run  loose  in  the 
yard  while  he  went  in  to  say  "good  day,"  to 
Madame  Alphonse.  As  soon  as  M.  Alphonse 
heard  him,  he  would  come  into  the  linen- 
room.  The  two  of  them  would  speak  of 
improvements  on  the  farm  or  about  people 
they  knew.  But  there  was  always  a  word  or 
a  sentence  in  their  conversation  which  came 

168 


MARIE-CLAIRE  169 

straight  to  me  from  Henri  Deslois.  I  often 
used  to  catch  M.  Alphonse  looking  at  me,  and 
I  could  not  always  keep  from  blushing. 

One  afternoon  as  Henri  Deslois  came  into 
the  room  smiling,  M.  Alphonse  said,  "You 
know  I  have  sold  the  house  on  the  hill." 
The  two  men  looked  at  one  another.  They 
both  grew  so  pale  that  I  was  afraid  they  were 
igoing  to  die  where  they  stood.  Then  M.  Al- 
phonse got  out  of  his  chair  and  stood  leaning 
against  the  chimney-piece,  while  Henri  Des- 
lois went  to  the  door  and  tried  to  close  it. 
Madame  Alphonse  put  her  lace  down  on  her 
knee  and  said,  as  though  she  were  repeating 
a  lesson,  "The  house  was  of  no  particular 
good,  and  I  am  very  pleased  that  it  has  been 
sold."  Henri  Deslois  came  and  stood  by  the 
table  so  close  to  me  that  he  could  have  touched 
me.  He  said  in  a  voice  that  was  not  quite 
firm,  "I  am  sorry  you  have  sold  it  without 
having  mentioned  it  to  me,  for  I  intended  to 
buy  it."  M.  Alphonse  wriggled  like  an  earth- 
worm. He  made  a  great  effort  to  laugh  out 
loud,  and  as  he  laughed  he  said,  "You  would 
have  bought  it?  You  would  have  bought  it? 
But  what  would  you  have  done  with  it?" 
Henri  Deslois  put  his  hand  on  the  back  of  my 
chair  and  answered,  "I  would  have  lived  in  it 


170  MARIE-CLAIRE 

as  Jean  le  Rouge  did."  M.  Alphonse  walked 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  chimney.  His 
face  had  changed  into  a  yellow  earthy  colour. 
His  hands  were  in  his  trouser  pockets,  and  he 
picked  up  his  feet  so  quickly  that  it  looked  as 
though  he  were  pulling  at  them  with  a  cord 
which  he  held  in  each  hand.  Then  he  came 
and  leaned  on  the  table  opposite  us,  and  look- 
ing at  us  one  after  the  other  with  his  glitter- 
ing eyes,  he  bent  forward  and  said,  "Well,  I 
have  sold  it  now,  so  it's  all  over."  During  the 
silence  which  followed  we  could  hear  the 
white  mare  pawing  the  ground  with  her  shoe 
as  though  she  were  calling  her  master.  Henri 
Deslois  went  towards  the  door.  Then  he 
came  back  to  me  and  picked  up  my  work 
which  had  fallen  from  my  hands  without  my 
having  noticed  it.  He  kissed  his  sister,  and 
before  he  went  he  said,  looking  at  me,  "I  shall 
see  you  to-morrow." 


NEXT  morning  Madame  Deslois  came 
into  the  linen-room.  She  came  straight 
to  me,  and  was  very  rude.  But  M.  Al- 
phonse  told  her  to  be  quiet,  and,  turning  to  me, 
he  said,  "Madame  Alphonse  has  asked  me  to 
tell  you  that  she  would  like  to  keep  you  in  her 
service.  But  she  wants  you  in  future  to  come 
to  mass  with  us."  He  tried  to  smile,  and 
added,  "We  will  drive  you  there  and  back." 
It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  spoken 
directly  to  me.  His  voice  was  rather  husky, 
as  though  he  felt  some  awkwardness  in  saying 
these  things  to  me.  I  don't  know  what  made 
me  think  that  he  was  lying,  and  that  Madame 
Alphonse  had  not  said  anything  of  the  kind. 
Besides,  he  looked  so  much  like  the  Mother 
Superior  that  I  could  not  help  defying  him. 
I  told  him  that  I  didn't  care  about  driving, 
and  that  I  should  go  to  mass  at  Sainte  Mon- 
tagne  as  before.  He  sucked  in  his  lower  lip 
and  began  biting  it.  Then  Madame  Deslois 
stepped  forward  threateningly,  and  told  me 
that  I  was  insolent.  She  kept  on  repeating 
this  word  as  though  she  could  not  find  any 

171 


172  MARIE-CLAIRE 

others.  She  shouted  it  more  and  more  loudly, 
and  lost  all  control  of  herself.  The  white  of 
her  eyes  was  becoming  quite  red,  and  she 
raised  her  hand  to  strike  me.  I  stepped  back 
quickly  behind  my  chair.  Madame  Deslois 
bumped  into  the  chair  and  knocked  it  over, 
and  caught  at  the  table  so  as  not  to  fall  down. 
Her  harsh  voice  terrified  me.  I  wanted  to 
leave  the  linen-room,  but  M.  Alphonse  had 
placed  himself  in  front  of  the  door,  and  I 
came  back  into  the  room  and  faced  Madame 
Deslois  across  the  table.  She  began  to  speak 
again  in  a  strangled  sort  of  voice.  She  used 
words  which  I  didn't  understand,  but  there 
was  something  about  what  she  said  and  the 
way  in  which  she  said  it  which  I  hated.  At 
last  she  stopped  speaking,  and  shouted  at  the 
top  of  her  voice,  "I  am  his  mother.  Do  you 
hear  me?" 

M.  Alphonse  came  towards  me.  He  took 
hold  of  my  arm  and  said,  "Come,  now,  listen 
to  me."  I  shook  myself  loose,  pushed  him 
away  and  ran  out  of  the  house.  The  last 
words  that  Madame  Deslois  had  said  ham- 
mered on  my  brain  as  though  they  really  were 
a  hammer  with  one  end  of  it  pointed.  "I  am 
his  mother,  do  you  hear? — his  mother."  Oh, 
mother  Marie- Aimee,  how  beautiful  you  were 


MARIE-CLAIRE  173 

when  compared  to  this  other  mother,  and  how 
I  loved  you!  How  your  many-coloured  eyes 
beamed  and  lit  up  your  black  dress,  and  how 
pure  your  face  was  under  your  white  cap !  I 
could  see  you  as  clearly  as  though  you  were 
really  in  front  of  me. 


I  WAS  quite  astonished  to  find  myself  in 
front  of  the  house  on  the  hill,  and  when 
I  got  there  I  saw  that  snow  was  falling 
in  a  regular  hurricane.  I  went  into  the  house 
for  shelter,  and  went  straight  into  the  room 
which  looked  out  on  the  garden.  I  tried  to 
think,  but  my  ideas  whirled  round  in  my  head 
like  the  snow-flakes,  which  looked  as  though 
they  were  climbing  up  from  the  ground  and 
falling  from  the  sky  at  the  same  time.  And 
every  time  that  I  made  an  effort  to  think,  the 
only  things  I  could  think  of  were  little  bits 
of  a  song  which  the  children  used  to  sing  in 
the  convent,  and  which  ran — 

The  old  girl  jumped  and  jumped  about 

And  jumped  until  she  died. 
The  old  girl  jumped  and  jumped  about 

And  jumped  until  she  died.  * 

I  felt  less  unhappy  in  this  silent  house. 
The  softly  falling  snow  was  pretty,  and  the 
trees  were  as  beautiful  as  on  that  day  when  I 

*On  a  tant  fait  sauter  la  vieille, 
Qu'elle  est  morte  en   sautillant, 

Tireli, 

Sautons,  sautons,  la  vieille! 
174 


MARIE-CLAIRE  175 

had  seen  them  all  in  bloom.  Then  suddenly 
I  remembered  quite  clearly  all  that  had  just 
happened.  I  saw  Madame  Deslois's  hand 
with  its  square  fingers,  and  shivered  all  over. 
What  an  ugly  hand  it  was,  and  what  a  large 
one!  Then  I  remembered  the  expression  on 
M.  Alphonse's  face  when  he  took  hold  of  my 
arm,  and  I  remembered  as  I  thought  of  it 
that  I  had  seen  the  same  expression  once  be- 
fore on  a  little  girl's  face.  It  was  one  day 
when  I  had  picked  up  a  pear  which  had  fallen 
from  the  tree.  She  had  rushed  at  me,  say- 
ing, "Give  me  half  of  it,  and  I  won't  tell." 
I  felt  so  disgusted  at  the  idea  of  sharing  it 
with  her  that,  although  Sister  Marie-Aimee 
might  have  seen  me,  I  had  gone  back  to  the 
tree  and  put  the  pear  down  where  it  had 
fallen. 

Thinking  of  all  these  things,  I  longed  and 
longed  to  see  Sister  Marie-Aimee  again.  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  gone  to  her  at  once, 
but  I  remembered  that  Henri  Deslois  had 
said  as  he  went,  "I  shall  see  you  to-morrow." 
Perhaps  he  was  at  the  farm  already,  waiting 
for  me,  and  wondering  what  had  become  of 
me.  I  went  out  of  the  house  to  run  back  to 
Villevieille.  I  had  only  gone  a  few  steps 
when  I  saw  him  coming  up.  The  white  mare 


176  MARIE-CLAIRE 

didn't  find  it  very  easy  to  climb  the  snow- 
covered  path.  Henri  Deslois  was  bare- 
headed as  he  had  been  the  first  time  he  came. 
His  smock  billowed  out  with  the  wind,  and 
he  had  a  hand  on  the  mane  of  the  mare.  The 
mare  stood  in  front  of  me.  Her  master 
leaned  down  and  took  my  two  hands  which  I 
held  up  to  him.  There  was  on  his  face  a 
harassed  expression  which  I  had  never  seen 
before.  I  noticed,  too,  that  his  eyebrows  met, 
like  those  of  Madame  Deslois.  He  was  a 
little  out  of  breath  and  said,  "I  knew  that  I 
should  find  you  here."  He  opened  his  mouth 
again,  and  I  felt  quite  certain  that  his  words 
were  going  to  bring  me  happiness.  He  held 
my  hands  tighter,  and  said  in  the  same  breath- 
less voice  as  before,  "Don't  hate  me."  Turn- 
ing his  eyes  away  from  mine  he  added,  "  I  can 
no  longer  be  your  friend."  I  thought  that 
somebody  had  struck  me  a  violent  blow  on 
the  head.  There  was  a  noise  of  a  saw  in  my 
ears.  I  could  see  Henri  Deslois  trembling, 
and  I  heard  him  say,  "How  cold  I  am!" 
Then  I  no  longer  felt  the  warmth  of  his  hand 
on  mine.  And  when  I  realized  that  I  was 
standing  all  alone  in  the  path,  I  saw  nothing 
but  a  great  white  shape  which  was  slipping 
noisily  across  the  snow. 


I  WENT  slowly  down  the  other  side  of 
the  hill,  walking  in  the  snow,  which 
squeaked  under  my  feet.  About  half- 
way a  peasant  offered  me  a  lift  in  his  cart. 
He  was  going  to  town  too,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  we  got  to  the  Orphanage.  I  rang  the 
bell,  and  the  porteress  looked  out  at  me 
through  the  peep-hole.  I  recognized  her. 
It  was  "Ox  Eye"  still.  We  had  named  her 
Ox  Eye  because  her  eyes  were  big  and  round 
like  a  daisy.  She  opened  the  gate  when  she 
recognized  me,  and  told  me  to  come  in;  but 
before  she  shut  the  gate  behind  me  she  said, 
"Sister  Marie-Aimee  is  not  here."  I  didn't 
answer,  so  she  said  again,  "Sister  Marie- 
Aimee  is  not  here."  I  heard  what  she  said 
quite  well,  but  I  didn't  pay  any  attention  to 
it.  It  was  like  a  dream  where  the  most  ex- 
traordinary things  happen  without  seeming 
to  be  of  any  importance  at  all.  I  looked  at 
her  great  big  eyes  and  said,  "I  have  come 
back."  She  closed  the  gate  behind  me  and 
left  me  standing  under  the  eaves  of  her  little 
house  in  the  gateway,  while  she  went  to  tell 

177 


178  MARIE-CLAIRE 

the  Mother  Superior.  She  came  back,  say- 
ing that  the  Mother  Superior  wanted  to  speak 
to  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  before  she  saw 
me. 

A  bell  rang.  Ox  Eye  got  up  and  told  me 
to  go  with  her.  It  was  snowing  again.  It 
was  almost  dark  in  the  Mother  Superior's 
room.  At  first  I  saw  nothing  but  the  fire, 
which  was  whistling  and  flaming.  Then  I 
heard  the  Mother  Superior's  voice.  "So  you 
have  come  back?"  she  said.  I  tried  to  think 
steadily,  but  I  was  not  quite  sure  whether  I 
had  come  back  or  not.  She  said  "Sister 
Marie-Aimee  is  not  here."  I  thought  that  my 
bad  dream  was  coming  on  again,  and  coughed 
to  try  and  wake  myself.  Then  I  looked  at 
the  fire  and  tried  to  find  out  v/hy  it  whistled 
like  that.  The  Mother  Superior  spoke  again. 
"Are  you  ill?"  she  said.  I  answered  "No." 
The  heat  did  me  good,  and  I  felt  better.  I 
was  beginning  to  understand  at  last  that  I  had 
come  back  to  the  Orphanage,  and  that  I  was 
in  the  Mother  Superior's  room.  My  eyes 
met  hers,  and  I  remembered  everything.  She 
laughed  a  little,  and  said,  "You  have  not 
changed  much.  How  old  are  you  now?"  I 
told  her  that  I  was  eighteen  years  old. 
"Really,"  she  said.  "Going  out  into  the 


MARIE-CLAIRE  179 

world  has  not  made  you  grow  much."  She 
leaned  one  elbow  on  the  table,  and  asked  me 
why  I  had  come  back.  I  wanted  to  tell  her 
that  I  had  come  back  to  see  Sister  Marie- 
Aimee,  but  I  was  afraid  of  hearing  her  say 
once  more  that  Sister  Marie-Aimee  was  not 
there,  and  I  remained  silent.  She  opened  a 
drawer,  took  out  a  letter,  which  she  covered 
with  her  open  hand,  and  said  in  the  weary 
voice  of  a  person  who  has  been  bothered  un- 
necessarily, "This  letter  had  already  told  me 
that  you  had  become  a  bold,  proud  girl."  She 
pushed  the  letter  from  her  as  though  she  were 
tired,  and  in  a  long  breath  she  said,  "You  can 
work  in  the  kitchen  here  until  we  find  you 
something  else  to  do."  The  fire  went  on  whist- 
ling. I  went  on  looking  at  it,  but  I  could 
not  make  out  which  of  the  three  logs  was  mak- 
ing the  noise.  The  Mother  Superior  raised 
her  monotonous  voice  to  draw  my  attention. 
She  warned  me  that  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges 
would  watch  me  very  closely,  and  that  I 
should  not  be  allowed  to  talk  to  my  former 
companions.  I  saw  her  point  to  the  door,  and 
I  went  out  into  the  snow. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  yard  I  could  see 
the  kitchens.  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges,  who 
was  tall  and  slim,  was  waiting  for  me  at  the 


180  MARIE-CLAIRE 

door.  I  could  see  nothing  of  her  but  her  cap 
and  her  black  dress,  and  I  imagined  her  to 
be  old  and  withered.  I  thought  of  running 
away.  I  need  only  run  to  the  gate  and  tell 
Ox  Eye  that  I  had  come  on  a  visit.  She 
would  let  me  out,  and  that  would  be  all. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  gate  I  went  towards 
the  buildings  where  I  had  lived  when  I  was 
a  child.  I  didn't  know  why  I  went  there, 
but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  felt  very  tired,  and 
I  should  have  liked  to  lie  down  and  sleep 
for  a  long  time. 

The  old  bench  was  in  the  same  place.  I 
wiped  some  of  the  snow  off  it  with  my  hands, 
and  sat  down  leaning  against  the  linden  tree 
as  M.  le  Cure  used  to  do.  I  was  waiting  for 
something,  and  I  didn't  know  what.  I  looked 
up  at  the  window  of  Sister  Marie- Aimee's 
room.  The  pretty  embroidered  curtains  were 
no  longer  there,  and  although  the  window 
was  just  like  the  other  windows  now,  I 
thought  it  quite  different.  And  though  the 
thick  calico  curtains  were  the  same  in  this 
room  as  in  the  others,  they  seemed  to  me  to 
make  that  window  look  like  a  face  with  its 
eyes  shut. 

The  yard  began  to  get  dark,  and  the  lights 
lit  up  the  rooms  inside.  I  meant  to  get  up 


MARIE-CLAIRE  181 

from  the  bench,  thinking,  "Ox  Eye  will  open 
the  gate  for  me" ;  but  my  body  felt  crushed, 
and  I  seemed  to  have  two  broad,  hard  hands 
weighing  heavily  on  my  head.  And,  as 
though  I  had  spoken  them  aloud,  the  words, 
"Ox  Eye  will  open  the  gate  for  me,"  repeated 
themselves  over  and  over  again.  All  of  a 
sudden  a  voice  with  pity  in  it  said  quite  close 
to  me,  "Please,  Marie-Claire,  don't  sit  out 
here  in  the  snow."  I  raised  my  head,  and 
standing  in  front  of  me  was  a  young,  quite 
young,  sister,  whose  face  was  so  beautiful  that 
I  could  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  such 
a  face  before.  She  bent  over  me  to  help  me 
up,  and,  as  I  could  hardly  stand  upright,  she 
put  my  arm  under  hers,  and  said,  "Lean  on 
me."  Then  I  saw  that  she  was  taking  me  to 
the  kitchen,  the  great  glass  door  of  which  was 
bright  with  light.  I  didn't  think  of  anything. 
The  snow  pricked  my  face,  and  my  eyelids 
were  burning.  When  I  went  into  the  kitchen, 
I  recognized  the  two  girls  who  were  stand- 
ing by  the  big  square  oven.  They  were  Vero- 
nique  the  Minx,  and  Melanie  the  Plump,  and 
I  seemed  to  hear  Sister  Marie-Aimee  talking 
to  them  by  these  names.  Melanie  nodded  to 
me  as  I  passed  her,  and  leaning  on  the  young 
sister's  arm,  I  went  into  a  room  in  which  there 


182  MARIE-CLAIRE 

was  a  night-light  burning.  The  room  was 
divided  into  two  by  a  big  white  curtain.  The 
young  sister  made  me  sit  down  on  a  chair, 
which  she  took  from  behind  the  curtain,  and 
went  out  without  saying  a  word.  A  little 
while  afterwards  Melanie  the  Plump  and 
Veronique  the  Minx  came  in  to  put  clean 
sheets  on  the  little  iron  bed  beside  me.  When 
they  had  finished,  Veronique,  who  had  not 
looked  at  me  at  all  till  then,  turned  to  me  and 
said  that  nobody  had  ever  thought  that  I 
should  come  back.  She  said  it  as  though  she 
were  reproaching  me  for  something  shameful. 
Melanie  put  her  hands  together  under  her 
chin,  and  put  her  head  on  one  side,  just  as 
she  used  to  do  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  She 
smiled  affectionately  at  me,  and  said,  "I  am 
very  glad  that  you  have  been  sent  to  the 
kitchen."  Then  she  patted  the  bed,  and  said, 
"You  are  taking  my  place.  I  used  to  sleep 
here."  She  pointed  to  the  curtain,  and  in  a 
low  voice  she  said,  "This  is  where  Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges  sleeps."  When  they  had 
gone  out,  closing  the  door  behind  them,  I  sat 
closer  to  the  bed.  The  big  white  curtain 
made  me  feel  uncomfortable.  I  thought  I 
could  see  shadows  moving  in  the  folds  which 
the  night-light  left  in  darkness.  Then  I 


MARIE-CLAIRE  183 

heard  the  dinner-bell.  I  recognized  it,  and 
without  knowing  what  I  was  doing  I  counted 
the  strokes.  Everything  was  quite  still  for 
some  time,  and  then  the  young  sister  came  into 
the  room  bringing  me  a  bowl  of  steaming 
soup.  She  pulled  the  big  curtain  back  and 
said,  "This  is  your  room,  and  that  is  mine." 
I  felt  quite  reassured  when  I  saw  that  her 
little  iron  bedstead  was  exactly  the  same  as 
my  own.  I  began  to  wonder  whether  she  was 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges,  but  I  dared  not  be- 
lieve it,  and  asked  her.  She  nodded  "Yes," 
and  drawing  her  chair  close  to  mine,  she  put 
her  face  in  the  full  light  and  said,  "Don't  you 
recognize  me?"  I  looked  at  her  without 
answering.  No,  I  didn't  recognize  her.  In 
fact,  I  was  certain  that  I  had  never  seen  her; 
for  I  was  certain  that  one  could  never  forget 
her  face  if  one  had  seen  it  once.  She  made  a 
funny  little  grimace,  and  said,  "I  can  see  you 
don't  remember  poor  Desiree  Joly."  Desiree 
Joly?  Of  course  I  remembered  her.  She 
was  a  girl  who  had  become  a  novice.  Her 
face  was  rosier  than  roses.  She  had  a  beauti- 
ful, slim  figure,  and  used  to  laugh  all  day 
long.  We  all  loved  her.  She  used  to  jump 
about  so  when  she  played  with  us  that  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  often  used  to  say  to  her,  "Come 


184  MARIE-CLAIRE 

now,  come  now,  not  so  high,  please,  Made- 
moiselle Joly !  You  are  showing  your  knees  1" 
Even  now,  when  I  was  looking  at  her,  I  could 
not  remember  her.  She  said  "Yes,  the  dress 
makes  a  lot  of  difference."  She  pulled  up 
her  sleeves,  and  making  the  same  funny  little 
face  again,  she  said,  "Forget  that  I  am  Sis- 
ter Desiree-des-Anges,  and  remember  that 
Desiree  Joly  used  to  be  very  fond  of  you." 
Then  she  went  on  quickly,  "I  recognized  you 
at  once,"  she  said.  "You  still  have  the  same 
baby  face."  When  I  told  her  I  had  imagined 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  to  be  old  and  cross, 
she  answered,  "We  were  both  wrong.  I  had 
been  told  that  you  were  vain  and  proud;  but 
when  I  saw  you  crying  in  the  middle  of  the 
snow,  I  thought  only  that  you  were  suffering, 
and  I  went  to  you."  When  she  had  helped 
me  to  bed,  she  divided  the  room  again  with 
the  curtain,  and  I  went  to  sleep  at  once. 

But  I  didn't  sleep  well.  I  woke  up  every 
minute.  There  was  a  heavy  stone  on  my 
chest  still,  and  when  I  managed  to  throw  it 
off,  it  split  up  into  several  pieces,  which  fell 
back  on  me  and  crushed  my  limbs.  Then  I 
dreamed  that  I  was  on  a  road  full  of  sharp 
pointed  stones  which  cut  me.  I  walked  along 
it  with  difficulty.  On  both  sides  of  the  road 
there  were  fields,  vines  and  houses.  All  the 


MARIE-CLAIRE  185 

houses  were  covered  with  snow,  but  the  trees 
were  laden  with  fruit,  and  were  in  bright  sun- 
shine. I  left  the  road  and  went  into  the 
fields,  stopping  at  all  the  trees  to  taste  the 
fruit.  But  all  the  fruit  was  bitter,  and  I 
threw  it  away.  I  tried  to  go  into  the  snow- 
covered  houses,  but  they  had  no  doors.  I 
went  back  on  to  the  road  and  the  stones 
gathered  round  me  so  fast  that  I  could  not  go 
on.  Then  I  called  for  help.  I  called  as  loud 
as  I  could,  but  nobody  heard  me.  And  when 
I  felt  I  was  going  to  be  buried  under  a  huge 
heap  of  stones,  I  struggled  so  hard  to  get 
away  from  them  that  I  woke  myself  up.  For 
a  moment  I  thought  I  was  still  dreaming. 
The  ceiling  of  the  room  seemed  to  be  a  tre- 
mendous height.  The  rod  from  which  the 
white  curtain  was  hanging  glittered  here  and 
there,  and  the  branch  of  boxwood  which  was 
nailed  to  the  wall  threw  a  shadow  on  the 
statue  of  the  Virgin  which  was  in  the  corner. 
Then  a  cock  crowed.  He  crowed  several 
times,  as  though  he  wanted  to  make  me  forget 
his  first  crow,  which  had  stopped  short,  as  if 
he  were  in  pain.  The  night-light  began  to 
flicker.  It  sputtered  for  a  long  time  be- 
fore it  went  out,  and  when  the  room  was 
quite  dark  I  heard  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges 
breathing  gently  and  regularly. 


LONG  before  daybreak  I  got  up  to  begin 
my  work  in  the  kitchen.  Melanie 
showed  me  how  to  lift  the  big  coppers. 
It  was  a  matter  of  skill  as  well  as  of  strength. 
It  took  me  more  than  a  week  before  I  could 
even  move  one  of  them.  Melanie  taught  me 
how  to  ring  the  heavy  waking  bell.  She 
showed  me  how  to  put  my  shoulders  into  the 
work  so  as  to  pull  the  rope,  and  I  soon  got 
into  the  way  of  it.  And  every  morning, 
whether  it  were  cold  or  raining,  I  used 
to  enjoy  ringing  the  bell.  It  had  a  clear 
sound  which  the  wind  increased  or  lessened, 
and  I  never  got  tired  of  hearing  it.  There 
were  days  when  I  rang  so  long  that  Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges  would  open  her  window 
and  would  say  pleadingly,  "That'll  do,  that'll 
do." 

Since  I  had  come  to  the  kitchen,  Veronique 
the  Minx  used  to  look  away  from  me  when 
she  spoke,  and  if  I  asked  her  where  anything 
was,  she  would  point  to  it  without  speaking. 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  used  to  watch  her, 
and  would  curl  her  lip  as  she  watched.  She 

186 


MARIE-CLAIRE  187 

was  not  as  quick-tempered  as  she  used  to  be 
when  she  was  a  novice,  but  she  was  full  of 
life  still  and  full  of  fun.  Every  evening  we 
used  to  meet  in  our  room,  and  she  would 
make  me  laugh  at  her  remarks  at  what  had 
been  going  on  during  the  day.  Sometimes 
my  laughter  ended  in  a  sob.  Then  she  used 
to  put  her  hands  together  as  the  saints  do  in 
the  pictures,  raise  her  eyes  and  say,  "Oh,  how 
I  wish  that  your  sorrow  would  leave  you." 
Then  she  would  kneel  on  the  ground  and 
pray,  and  I  often  used  to  go  to  sleep  before 
she  got  up  again. 

Work  in  the  kitchen  was  very  hard.  I  used 
to  help  Melanie  polish  up  the  coppers,  and 
wash  the  tiled  floors.  She  did  most  of  the 
work  herself.  She  was  as  strong  as  a  man, 
and  was  always  ready  to  help  me.  As  soon 
as  she  found  that  I  was  tired,  she  used  to  force 
me  to  sit  down  on  a  chair,  and  would  say 
smilingly,  "Recreation  time."  A  few  days 
after  I  had  arrived,  she  reminded  me  of  the 
difficulties  she  used  to  have  in  learning  her 
catechism. 

She  had  not  forgotten  that  during  a  whole 
season  I  had  spent  all  my  recreation  time  try- 
ing to  teach  her  to  learn  it  by  heart.  And 
now  she  delighted  in  making  me  rest. 


188  MARIE-CLAIRE 

Veronique's  work  was  the  preparation  of 
the  vegetables,  and  she  also  took  the  meat  in 
from  the  butcher.  She  used  to  stand  stiffly 
by  the  scales  until  the  butcher's  boys  put  the 
meat  on.  She  was  always  grumbling  at  them, 
saying  that  the  meat  was  cut  too  small  or  cut 
too  big.  The  butcher  boys  used  to  get  angry 
with  her  and  were  rude  to  her  sometimes,  and 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  told  me  at  last  to  take 
the  meat  in  instead  of  her.  She  came  to  the 
scales  just  the  same  next  day;  but  I  was  there 
with  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges,  who  was  tell- 
ing me  how  to  weigh  the  meat. 


ONE  morning  one  of  the  two  butchers 
looked  at  me  and  spoke  my  name. 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  and  I  looked 
at  the  butcher  boy  in  surprise.  He  was  a  new 
one,  but  I  soon  recognized  him.  He  was  the 
eldest  son  of  Jean  le  Rouge.  He  was  de- 
lighted to  see  me  again,  and  told  me  that  his 
parents  had  got  a  good  place  at  the  Lost  Ford. 
He  himself  didn't  care  about  working  in  the 
fields,  and  had  found  work  with  a  butcher  in 
the  town.  Then  he  told  me  that  the  Lost 
Ford  was  quite  near  Villevieille,  and  asked 
me  if  I  knew  it.  I  nodded  my  head  to  say 
that  I  did.  He  went  on  to  say  that  his  father 
and  mother  had  been  there  for  some  months, 
and  that  there  had  been  feasting  there  last 
week  because  Henri  Deslois  was  married.  I 
heard  him  say  a  few  words  more  which  I 
didn't  understand,  then  the  daylight  in  the 
kitchen  turned  into  black  night,  and  I  felt 
the  tiles  give  way  under  my  feet  and  drag  me 
down  into  a  bottomless  hole.  I  remember 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  coming  to  help  me, 
but  an  animal  had  fastened  itself  on  my  chest. 

189 


190  MARIE-CLAIRE 

It  made  a  dreadful  sound  which  it  hurt  me  to 
hear.  It  was  like  a  horrible  sob  which  al- 
ways stopped  at  the  same  place.  Then  the 
light  came  back  again,  and  I  could  see  above 
me  the  faces  of  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  and 
Melanie.  Both  were  smiling  anxiously,  and 
Melanie's  broad,  red  face  looked  like  Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges's  pointed  pale  one.  I  sat 
up  in  bed,  wondering  why  I  was  there  by  day- 
light, but  I  didn't  get  up.  I  remembered 
little  Jean  le  Rouge,  and  for  hours  and  hours 
I  fought  with  my  pain. 

When  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  came  into 
the  room  at  bedtime  she  sat  down  on  the  foot 
of  my  bed.  She  put  her  two  hands  together 
like  the  saints  did.  "Tell  me  of  your  sor- 
row," she  said.  I  told  her,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  every  word  I  spoke  took  some  of  my 
suffering  away  with  it. 

When  I  had  told  her  everything,  Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges  fetched  "The  Imitation  of 
Jesus  Christ,"  and  began  to  read  aloud.  She 
read  in  a  gentle  and  resigned  voice,  and  there 
were  words  which  sounded  like  the  end  of  a 
moan. 

On  the  days  which  followed,  I  saw  little 
Jean  le  Rouge  again.  He  told  me  some  more 
about  the  Lost  Ford,  and  while  he  said  how 


MARIE-CLAIRE  191 

happy  his  parents  were  and  how  kind  the 
master  was  to  them,  I  could  see  the  house  on 
the  hill  with  its  garden  in  flower,  and  its 
spring  from  which  the  little  brooklets  crawled 
down  to  the  river,  hiding  themselves  under 
the  broom.  I  often  spoke  of  it  to  Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges,  who  listened  to  me  medi- 
tatively. She  knew  the  neighbourhood  and 
every  corner  of  the  place,  and  one  evening, 
when  she  sat  dreaming  and  I  asked  her  what 
she  was  thinking  about,  she  said,  "Summer 
will  be  over  soon,  and  I  was  thinking  that  the 
trees  were  full  of  fruit." 


DURING  the  month  of  September  a 
number  of  nuns  paid  visits  to  the 
Mother  Superior.  Ox  Eye  used  to  ring 
the  bell  to  announce  them.  Every  time  she 
rang  Veronique  went  out  to  see  who  was  com- 
ing in.  She  always  had  something  disagree- 
able to  say  about  each  one  of  the  sisters  whom 
she  recognized.  One  evening  the  bell 
sounded.  Veronique,  who  was  looking  out, 
said,  "Well,  here's  one  whom  nobody  ex- 
pected." She  put  her  head  into  the  kitchen 
again,  and  said,  "It  is  Sister  Marie- Aimee." 
The  big  spoon  which  I  had  in  my  hand 
slipped  through  my  fingers  and  dropped  into 
the  copper.  I  rushed  to  the  door,  pushing 
past  Veronique,  who  wanted  to  keep  me  back. 
Melanie  rushed  after  me.  "Don't,"  she  said, 
"the  Mother  Superior  can  see  you."  But  I 
rushed  out  to  Sister  Marie-Aimee.  I  rushed 
into  her  arms  with  such  force  that  we  nearly 
fell  over  together.  She  clasped  me  tight  and 
held  me.  She  was  trembling  and  almost 
crazy  with  joy.  She  took  my  head  in  her 
hands,  and,  as  if  I  had  been  quite  a  little  child, 

192 


MARIE-CLAIRE  193 

she  kissed  me  all  over  my  face.  Her  stiff 
linen  cap  made  a  noise  like  paper  when  you 
crumple  it  up,  and  her  broad  sleeves  fell  back 
to  her  shoulders.  Melanie  was  right,  the 
Mother  Superior  saw  me.  She  came  out  of 
the  chapel  and  came  towards  us.  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  saw  her.  She  stopped  kissing 
me,  and  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  I  put 
my  arm  round  her,  fearing  that  she  would  be 
taken  away  from  me,  and  the  two  of  us  stood 
and  watched  the  Mother  Superior.  She 
passed  in  front  of  us  without  raising  her  eyes, 
and  didn't  seem  to  see  Sister  Marie-Aimee, 
who  bowed  gravely  to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  I  dragged  Sister 
Marie-Aimee  off  to  the  old  bench.  She 
stopped  a  moment,  and  before  sitting  down 
she  said,  "It  is  as  though  things  were  waiting 
for  us."  She  sat  down.  She  leaned  against 
the  linden  tree,  and  I  kneeled  down  in  the 
grass  at  her  feet.  There  were  no  more  rays 
in  her  eyes.  It  was  as  though  the  colours  in 
them  had  all  been  mixed  together.  Her 
dear  little  face  had  grown  smaller,  and  seemed 
to  have  gone  further  back  into  her  cap.  Her 
stomacher  had  not  the  beautiful  curve  on  her 
breast  that  it  used  to  have,  and  her  hands 
were  so  thin  that  the  blue  veins  in  them 


194  MARIE-CLAIRE 

showed  up  quite  clearly.     She  hardly  glanced 
at  the  window  of  her  room,  but  looked  out  on 
the  linden  trees  and  round  the  courtyard,  and 
as  she  caught  sight  of  the  Mother  Superior's 
house,  these  words  fell  from  her  like  a  sigh, 
"We  must  forgive  others  if  we  wish  to  be  for- 
given."     Then  she  looked  at  me  again,  and 
said,  "Your  eyes  are  sad."     She  passed  the 
palms  of  her  hands  over  my  eyes,  as  if  she 
wanted   to  wipe  out  something  which   dis- 
pleased her,  and,  keeping  them  there  so  that 
my  eyes  remained  shut,  "How  we  suffer,"  she 
said.     Then  she   took  her  hands  away  and 
clasped  mine,  and,  with  her  eyes  on  my  face, 
she  said,  as  though  she  were  praying,    "My 
sweet  daughter,  listen  to  me.     Never  become 
a  poor  nun."     She  heaved  a  long  sigh  of  re- 
gret, and  said,  "Our  dress  of  black  and  white 
tells  others  that  we  are  creatures  of  strength 
and  of  brightness.     At  our  bidding  all  tears 
are  dried,  and  all  who  suffer  come  to  us  for 
consolation,  but  nobody  thinks  of  our  own  suf- 
fering.    We  are  like  women  without  faces." 
Then  she  spoke  of  the  future.     She  said,  "I 
am  going  where  the  missionaries  go.     I  shall 
live  there  in  a  house  full  of  terror.     Before 
my  eyes  will  pass  unceasingly  everything  that 
is  hideous,  everything  that  is  ugly,  everything 


MARIE-CLAIRE  195 

that  is  bad."  I  listened  to  her  deep  voice. 
There  was  a  note  of  passion  in  it.  It  was  as 
though  she  were  taking  on  to  her  shoulders 
all  the  suffering  of  the  world.  Her  fingers 
loosed  mine.  She  passed  them  over  my 
cheeks,  and  speaking  very  gently,  said,  "The 
purity  of  your  face  will  always  remain  graven 
on  my  mind."  Then  she  looked  out,  away 
and  past  me,  and  added,  "God  has  given  us 
remembrance,  and  it  is  not  in  anybody's 
power  to  take  that  away  from  us."  She  got 
up  from  the  bench.  I  went  with  her  across 
the  yard,  and  when  Ox  Eye  had  closed  the 
heavy  gate  behind  her,  I  stood  and  listened  to 
the  echo  of  its  closing. 

That  evening  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges 
came  into  the  room  later  than  usual.  She 
had  been  taking  part  in  special  prayer  for  Sis- 
ter Marie- Aimee,  who  was  going  away  to 
nurse  the  lepers. 


WNTER  came  again.  Sister  Desiree- 
des-Anges  had  soon  guessed  my  love 
of  reading,  and  she  brought  me  all 
the  books  in  the  sisters'  library,  one  after  the 
other.  Most  of  the  books  were  childish  books, 
and  I  read  quickly,  turning  over  several  pages 
at  a  time.  I  preferred  stories  of  travel,  and 
I  used  to  read  at  night  by  the  night-light. 
Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  used  to  scold  me 
when  she  woke  up ;  but  as  soon  as  she  went  to 
sleep  I  took  up  the  book  again.  Little  by 
little  we  became  great  friends.  The  white 
curtain  was  no  longer  drawn  between  our  beds 
at  night  time.  All  sense  of  constraint  had  dis- 
appeared between  us,  and  all  our  thoughts 
were  in  common.  She  was  cheerful  and 
bright  always.  The  one  thing  that  annoyed 
her  in  her  life  was  her  nun's  costume.  She 
found  it  heavy  and  uncomfortable,  and  she 
used  to  say  that  it  hurt  her.  "When  I  dress," 
she  said,  "I  always  feel  as  though  I  were  put- 
ting myself  into  a  house  where  it  is  always 
night."  She  was  always  glad  to  get  out  of 
her  dress  in  the  evening,  and  loved  walking 

196 


MARIE-CLAIRE  197 

about  the  room  in  her  night-dress.  She  used 
to  say,  making  that  funny  little  face,  "I  am 
beginning  to  get  used  to  it,  but  at  first  that 
cap  crushed  my  cheeks  and  the  dress  weighed 
my  shoulders  down." 

When  the  spring  came  she  began  to  cough. 
She  had  a  little  dry  cough  which  used  to 
make  itself  heard  from  time  to  time.  Her 
long  slim  body  seemed  to  become  more  fragile 
than  ever.  She  was  as  bright  and  cheerful  as 
before,  but  she  complained  that  her  heavy 
dress  became  heavier  and  heavier. 


ONE  night  in  May  she  tossed  about  and 
dreamed  aloud.  I  had  been  reading 
all  night,  and  noticed  all  of  a  sudden 
that  daylight  was  coming.  I  blew  out  the 
night-light  and  tried  to  sleep  a  little.  I  was 
just  dropping  off  when  Sister  Desiree-des- 
Anges  said,  "Open  the  window,  he  is  coming 
to-day."  I  thought  that  she  was  still  dream- 
ing, but  she  said  again  quite  clearly,  "Open 
the  window  that  he  may  enter."  I  looked  to 
see  whether  she  was  asleep,  and  saw  that  she 
was  sitting  up  in  bed.  She  had  drawn  back 
her  blanket,  and  was  untying  the  strings  of 
her  night-cap.  She  took  it  off  and  threw  it 
to  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Then  she  shook  her 
head,  her  short  hair  rolled  into  curls  on  her 
forehead,  and  I  recognized  Desiree  Joly  at 
once.  I  was  a  little  bit  frightened,  and  got 
up.  She  repeated,  "Open  the  window  that 
he  may  enter."  I  opened  the  window  wide, 
and  when  I  turned  round  Sister  Desiree-des- 
Anges  was  holding  out  her  clasped  hands 
towards  the  rising  sun,  and  in  a  voice  which 
had  suddenly  grown  weaker,  she  said,  "I  have 

198 


MARIE-CLAIRE  199 

taken  off  my  dress.  I  could  not  stand  it  any; 
longer."  She  lay  down  quietly,  and  her  face 
became  quite  motionless.  I  held  my  breath  for 
a  long  time  to  listen  to  hers.  Then  I  breathed 
hard,  as  though  I  could  give  her  my  breath, 
but  when  I  looked  at  her  more  closely  I  saw 
that  she  had  breathed  her  last.  Her  eyes 
were  wide  open,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  at 
a  sunbeam  which  was  coming  towards  her 
like  a  long  arrow.  Swallows  flew  past  the 
window  and  flew  back  again,  chirruping  like 
little  girls,  and  my  ears  were  filled  with  sounds 
which  I  had  never  heard  before.  I  looked 
up  to  the  windows  of  the  dormitories,  hoping 
that  somebody  would  hear  what  I  had  to  say, 
but  I  saw  nothing  but  the  face  of  the  big 
clock  which  seemed  to  be  looking  down  into 
the  room  over  the  linden  trees. 

It  was  five  o'clock.  I  pulled  the  blanket 
up  over  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges  and  went 
out  and  rang  the  bell.  I  rang  for  a  long 
time.  The  notes  went  far,  far  away.  They 
went  right  away  to  where  Sister  Desiree- 
des-Anges  had  gone.  I  went  on  ringing  be- 
cause it  seemed  to  me  that  the  bells  were  tell- 
ing the  world  that  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges 
was  dead.  I  went  on  ringing,  too,  because  I 
hoped  that  she  would  pop  her  beautiful  face 


200  MARIE-CLAIRE 

out  of  the  window  and  say,  "That'll  do,  that'll 
rdo,  Marie-Claire." 

Melanie  pulled  the  rope  out  of  my  hands. 
The  bell,  which  was  up,  fell  back  all  wrong, 
and  gave  a  sort  of  groan.  "Silly,  you  have 
been  ringing  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or 
more,"  Melanie  said.  I  answered,  "Sister 
Desiree-des-Anges  is  dead."  Veronique  went 
into  the  room  after  us.  She  noticed  that  the 
white  curtain  was  not  drawn  between  the  two 
beds,  and  said  that  she  thought  it  was  dis- 
graceful for  a  nun  to  let  her  hair  be  seen. 
Melanie  passed  her  finger  over  a  tear  which 
was  rolling  down  each  of  her  cheeks.  Her 
head  was  more  on  one  side  than  ever,  and  she 
whispered  quite  low,  "She  is  even  prettier 
than  she  was  before."  The  sunshine  bathed 
the  bed,  and  covered  the  dead  woman  from 
head  to  foot. 

I  remained  with  her  all  day.  Some  of  the 
sisters  came  to  see  her.  One  of  them  covered 
her  face  with  a  napkin,  but  as  soon  as  she  had 
gone,  I  uncovered  it  again.  Melanie  came 
and  spent  the  night  by  the  bedside  with  me. 
When  she  had  closed  the  window  she  lit  the 
big  lamp,  "so  that  Sister  Desiree-des-Anges 
should  not  be  in  the  dark,"  she  said. 


A  WEEK  afterwards  Ox  Eye  came  to  the 
kitchen.  She  told  me  to  get  ready  to 
go  the  same  day.  In  the  hollow  of 
her  hand  she  held  two  gold  pieces,  which  she 
put  side  by  side  on  the  corner  of  the  oven,  and, 
touching  one  after  the  other  with  her  finger, 
she  said,  "Our  Mother  Superior  sends  you 
forty  francs."  I  did  not  want  to  go  away 
without  saying  good-bye  to  Colette  and  to 
Ismerie,  whom  I  had  often  seen  at  the  other 
side  of  the  lawn ;  but  Melanie  assured  me  that 
they  didn't  care  for  me  any  more.  Colette 
could  not  understand  why  I  was  not  married 
yet,  and  Ismerie  could  not  forgive  me  for  be- 
ing so  fond  of  Sister  Marie-Aimee. 

Melanie  went  to  the  gate  with  me.  As  we 
passed  the  old  bench,  I  saw  that  one  of  its 
legs  was  broken,  and  that  one  end  of  it  had 
fallen  into  the  grass.  At  the  gate  I  found  a 
woman  waiting.  Her  eyes  were  hard.  She 
said  authoritatively,  "I  am  your  sister."  I 
didn't  recognize  her.  It  was  twelve  years 
since  I  had  seen  her.  Directly  we  got  out- 
side she  caught  hold  of  my  arm,  and  in  a  voice 

901 


202  MARIE-CLAIRE 

as  hard  as  her  eyes,  she  asked  me  how  much 
money  I  had.  I  showed  her  the  two  gold 
pieces  which  I  had  just  received.  Then  she 
said,  "You  will  do  better  to  remain  in  the 
town,  where  you  will  find  it  easier  to  get  some- 
thing to  do."  As  we  walked  on  she  told  me 
she  was  married  to  a  gardener  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  that  she  didn't  intend  to  give 
herself  any  particular  trouble  over  me.  We 
got  to  the  railway  station.  She  took  me  on  to 
the  platform  because  she  wanted  me  to  help 
her  carry  some  parcels.  She  said  "good- 
bye" when  her  train  went  off,  and  I  remained 
there  and  watched  it  go.  Almost  immedi- 
ately another  train  stopped.  The  railway 
men  ran  up  and  down  the  platform  calling  to 
the  passengers  for  Paris  to  cross  over.  In 
that  one  moment  I  saw  Paris  with  its  great 
houses  like  palaces,  with  roofs  so  high  that 
they  were  lost  in  the  clouds.  A  young  man 
bumped  into  me.  He  stopped  and  said,  "Are 
you  going  to  Paris,  mademoiselle?"  I 
scarcely  hesitated,  and  said,  "Yes ;  but  I  have 
no  ticket."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "Give 
me  the  money,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  go  and 
get  it  for  you."  I  gave  him  one  of  my  two 
gold  coins,  and  he  ran  off.  I  put  the  ticket 
and  the  change  in  copper  which  he  had 


MARIE-CLAIRE  203 

brought  me  into  my  pocket,  went  across  the 
line  with  him,  and  climbed  into  the  train. 

The  young  man  stood  at  the  carriage  door 
for  a  minute,  and  went  off,  turning  back  once 
as  he  went.  His  eyes  were  full  of  gentleness, 
like  those  of  Henri  Deslois. 

The  train  whistled  once,  as  though  to  warn 
me,  and  as  it  moved  off  it  whistled  a  second 
time,  a  long  whistle  like  a  scream. 


AFTERWORD 


AND  now  may  I  tell  you  what  I  know 
about  Marguerite  Audoux,  the  author 
of  the  book  you  have  just  read?  I 
know  very  little  more  of  her  than  you  do,  for 
you  have  read  the  book,  and  Marguerite 
Audoux  is  Marie-Claire.  If  Marie-Claire  in 
English  does  not  please  you,  the  fault  is  mine. 
I  have  tried  hard  to  translate  into  English 
the  uneducated,  unspoilt  purity  of  language, 
the  purity  of  thought  which  are  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  French;  but  the  task  was  no 
easy  one,  much  as  I  loved  it  in  the  doing. 

Marguerite  Audoux  herself  is  a  plump  and 
placid  little  woman,  of  about  thirty-five.  She 
lives  in  a  sixth-floor  garret  in  the  Rue  Leo- 
pold Robert,  in  Paris.  From  her  window 
she  has  a  view  of  roof-tops  and  the  Montpar- 
nasse  cemetery.  When  she  learned  of  the 
success  of  her  book,  with  which  she  had  lived 
for  six  years,  she  cried.  "I  felt  dreadfully 
frightened  at  first,"  she  said.  "I  felt  very  un- 
easy. I  felt  as  though  I  had  become  known 
too  quickly,  as  though  I  were  a  criminal  of 
note.  Now  my  one  wish  is  to  work  again," 


208  MARIE-CLAIRE 

She  reads  a  good  deal.  Her  favourite  authors 
are  Chateaubriand  and  Maeterlinck.  In 
Maeterlinck  she  loves  the  mystery.  "We 
never  know  people  properly,"  she  says. 
"They  are  just  as  difficult  to  understand  as 
things  that  happen  are.  We  never  know 
whose  fault  it  is  when  good  or  bad  things 
happen,  and  we  don't  really  know  whether 
we  ought  to  be  angry  or  to  be  sorry  with  peo- 
ple who  do  harm.  Wicked  people  are  like  a 
thunderstorm,  don't  you  think?  And  a  lazy 
woman  is  like  a  hot  room.  Both  are  un- 
healthy, but  they  cannot  help  it." 

Marguerite  Audoux  does  not  say  these 
things  to  be  clever.  She  says  them  quite 
simply,  and  they  express  her  natural  way 
of  thought,  which  is  simplicity  and  purity 
itself. 

She  wrote  her  book  when  and  how  she 
could,  on  scraps  of  cheap  paper,  and  she  does 
not  know  herself  now  whether  she  hoped  to 
have  it  published  when  she  wrote  it.  She 
did  hope  for  publication  when  she  had  fin- 
ished it,  but  that  was  because  she  was  hun- 
gry- 

I  met  a  friend  just  outside  Marguerite 
Audoux's  house  after  my  first  visit  to  her. 
"Tiens,"  he  said,  "tu  viens  de  la  mansarde  de 


MARIE-CLAIRE  209 

Genie  1'ouvriere."  And  the  clever  little  pun 
was  true.  Marguerite  Audoux  is  a  genius, 
and  she  does  not  understand  what  people  mean 
when  they  ask  her  "how"  she  "writes."  She 
opens  her  weak  eyes  very  wide  at  the  ques- 
tion, laughs  as  a  child  laughs  when  it  doesn't 
understand,  and  says,  "But  I  don't  know. 
The  thoughts  come,  and  I  write  them  down. 
I  only  wish  that  I  could  spell  them  better." 

When  the  committee  of  the  Vie  Heureuse 
was  voting  on  her  book  before  awarding  her 
the  £200  prize  for  the  best  book  of  the  year, 
somebody  suggested  the  possibility  that  she 
had  had  help  with  it.  Madame  Severine  was 
sent  to  fetch  the  manuscript.  It  was  passed 
round,  examined,  and  no  more  doubt  was  pos- 
sible. 

I  hope  you  will  find  the  pleasure  in  read- 
ing Marie-Claire  that  I  found  in  translating 
it.  I  should  like  to  say  quite  earnestly — and 
perhaps  a  little  shamefacedly,  because  we  hate 
saying  these  things  out  loud — that  when  I 
had  read  it  I  felt  awed.  The  book  had 
worked  upon  me.  Do  you  remember  the  im- 
pression of  moonlight  upon  the  snow  in  the 
country?  You  must  be  quite  alone  to  feel  it. 
The  purity  of  it  all  makes  you  wish  that  you 
a  cleaner  man  or  woman,  and,  till  you 


210  MARIE-CLAIRE 

rub  shoulders  with  people  again,  you  mean 
to  try  hard  to  be  cleaner  and  better.  Marie- 
Claire  made  me  feel  just  exactly  like  that. 

JOHN  N.  RAPHAEL. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


off^* 


OCT  a 


!32£ 

OCT  28  1918 


9  1919      . 


JAN  29  1921 


FED 


JUL  21  19; 
UEC  871926 

UN  27 


MAY  9 

JUL 


-xZ  CU 


31 


YB  5499 


